Over the Airwaves
by BravoExpressions
Summary: Newlywed Marshall is stationed in Mexico for six months with Abigail, and the only way he can reach Mary is via e-mail. A post-finale fic. Rated T for language, but not excessive.
1. Your Mary Sunshine

**A/N: Well, I wasn't sure I was going to finish this tale before I had to start working feverishly again, but I managed! It is entirely new, and an entirely different spin on its plot than most of my stories. The chapters are much shorter (most of them, anyway) and written completely in letter/e-mail form.**

**I feel it's probably important I give a brief synopsis in addition to the one on the main page, in case the letters don't speak for themselves. Almost the whole fic (minus the final three chapters,) are back-and-forth e-mails. Marshall, almost immediately post-finale and newly married to Abigail, has gone to Mexico for six months in order to help out the Marshal/detective division with his WITSEC skills. Abigail has gone with him. Their phones won't call back to the states. That is pretty much the gist, and I try to work in the other details in the messages as best I can, and in a way that seems natural. The date of each e-mail was supposed to be in the upper right, but the site won't format it that way, so it's on the left, unfortunately. You will have to suspend some disbelief for this story, but I hope you can manage!**

**Enjoy!**

XXX

June 7th

My dearest doofus,

Your eyes are _not_ playing tricks on you, skinny. (And getting skinnier, no doubt, now that you're bunking below the border and spending all your time snagging felons.) I actually took the time to write you an e-mail, and I expect full and complete credit for it when you return to the hellhole that is the southwest in six months time.

(Six months? Seriously? How the hell you expect me to keep from flaying Delia alive before that moment is a mystery to me but hey, the blood's on your hands.)

I figure that since you said the cell phone service would be 'sketchy' down there, this might be the best way for me to make sure you haven't – you know – been seriously injured scrutinizing some rare type of cactus or something. And, it will give you more time to spend with Abigail. I can't imagine how she is faring in the drug-bust business, but I know you're doing your part to reinvent the poor lost souls down there. You're like Doctors Without Borders now, only without the coat and a much more impressive haircut.

To avoid having to answer these questions twice, I suppose I can give you the run-down. Norah is thriving; don't think I'm fooled into believing you don't want to know about her more than you want to know about me. She's not wild about how hellishly hot it's been here lately, but Brandi convinced me to take her swimming yesterday and she's like part girl, part flounder. Jinx bought this ridiculously tacky plastic pool to set up in the backyard; the next thing we need is the family dog drinking water from the hose.

Oh, wait. I already have one of those thanks to you. For the record, I am changing Oscar's name to Oaf and you owe me. You owe me _big_. Between him and Norah and the little fidgeter in Brandi's stomach, not due to come out 'till September, I practically have a fleet here at home. It's pretty sick, but at least Brandi is becoming a decent babysitter. 'Bout time she earned her keep.

So, I really doubt that you'll be able to squeeze me in between your nightly Shakespeare readings with Nancy Drew and slamming the drug-smugglers, but I want some serious glory for this novel. Honestly Marshall, my fingers are getting sore, not to mention my ass from having it planted in this chair all day long. Since you ditched the chief position and they brought in that asshat from Denver, I've been more swamped than ever. Hope you're happy.

Don't get blasted or stabbed, my little dimwit. That's a lot of messy paperwork.

- Your Mary Sunshine

X

June 10th

Dear Mary,

I ought to have known you would make light of my noble affairs. What you see as abandoning my prior position, I see as the opportunity to hone my well-established WITSEC muscles and do some good where I am stationed. It is Abigail who is doing the drug-busting, and she has no qualms with it either; that, I can assure you. It is I who is modeling the young citizens that have been brave enough to stand up and show they have a voice – to do their duty for a country, be it theirs or the new world beyond the border. It is simply Witness Protection rejuvenated; those individuals who are courageous enough to do their part are sent on a new adventure to Arizona, Colorado, or our homeland of New Mexico. I never would have thought the greater southwest WITSEC and, indeed, D.C. would ever approve Abigail and I heading down here, but the Marshal Service was in dire need. Everyone craves a clever detective and her witty sidekick. The more we manage to turn around in the six months we've got, the better.

I do encourage you to give Chief Inspector Hanson a chance. He was much acclaimed in Colorado and will be an asset to the Albuquerque office. I hesitate to say he does not need a surly co-worker to put stress on his transition. Abigail and I also have to content ourselves with the upper crust here in Mexico. We have been assigned to a deputy donned Cliff. He does not exactly operate to mirror my own style, but I am adjusting, and Abigail seems to enjoy him.

The place where we are staying is actually quite homey. D.C. made sure we were put up in a less-than-temporary apartment, with the six month stay and all. Abigail is excited to start decorating and has already put flowerpots on the windowsills. While I am thrilled to have a place to call our own, I cannot help feeling selfish when I glimpse some of the areas we go into. Seeing children with little to eat, little to wear, and almost literally lacking a roof over their heads makes me quite melancholy. Our building is more outside the poverty-stricken vicinity, but you are correct about the cell service. It is patchy at best. Fortunately, we have radios and the cellular does seem to work within the region, but getting a call back to the states is difficult. For emergencies, we are supposed to go into headquarters, which is quite a trek.

I am buffeted to hear that Norah is getting along relatively nicely. Despite your disdain for the swimming pool, I cannot picture a better solution in the heat. You may have to let Brandi stretch her maternal wings, as she is destined to have her own just after Labor Day (how ironic.) If you deem it of importance, you will have to let me know how she is feeling. Do tell her I extend my hellos, and to Jinx as well.

It seems a paradox that I can connect to the Internet from my laptop, but rarely use the phone. Abigail has been talking about getting a landline for our stay, but we will have to see how that plays out.

Give my love to Norah, even if she cannot understand because she is a baby. I do hope that you will write again, and that the first attempt was not too taxing.

- Marshall

XXX

**A/N: Feel free to ask questions if anyone is confused about the set-up here (in case it's not clear.) And, like I said, it requires some suspending of reality with phones not calling, but e-mail working, etc. We tweak things for the purposes of our fics. Also, I am not trying to imply anything by using Mexico as the setting for Marshall's work. I'm not intending to make stereotypes about how people live down there AT ALL; many areas throughout our nations have drug problems or poverty. It's not supposed to be specific to Mexico; it's just the area I chose. **

**Hope you enjoyed this first installment!**


	2. Favorite Inspector

**A/N: Thanks a lot for the initial reviews. I know the chapters are pretty short, but hopefully they're worth it. And, it still bugs me that the date is not where I put it in the document, but am learning to live with it LOL.**

XXX

June 12th

Hey Poindexter,

Tooting your own horn is not at all flattering. When you return, am I supposed to kiss your feet because you fancy yourself some world traveler who reforms humanity? Something tells me Abigail has that covered. I bet you newlyweds weren't expecting a honeymoon in Mexico, but that's the way the cookie crumbles, my friend. Maybe you can escape the pressures of work for one afternoon and head off to Cancun. Just make sure you don't tell me about it. With the barnyard ruckus going on at my house, hearing you escaped to Acapulco or somewhere would only get you a boot up your ass.

Speaking of the four-and-a-half-person league (I'm counting Brandi's spawn as the half) yet another has been added to the pile. I suppose you could say two more, if you want to get technical (and something tells me you do.) Kenny and his half-pint, Oliver, came over yesterday afternoon. Norah seems okay with Kenny, but she's not crazy about Oliver. I can't figure out if she's confused because she's never seen another being so close to her size, or what the deal is. Oliver was trying to build with her blocks and my little urchin kept taking them back. How'd she get to be such a greedy Gus so early in life? Fortunately, Kenny thought it was hysterical. I'll tell you who also thought it was hysterical was Brandi – or else she thought _Kenny_ was a laugh riot. Just watch. First Raph, and then this guy. My sister has a habit of nabbing men that are supposed to be tied to me.

And don't get any ideas, lanky. Kenny and I are not an 'item' or a 'couple' or any combination of the above. He brought his kid over for a playdate; that's it. I'm just speculating, because in the future you can bet Kenny and Brandi are gonna be sharing lemonade and sandwiches by the lake, or something so cheesy. It would be totally cliché for Oliver and whatever Brandi's child turns out to be to hit it off. Norah and I can handle whatever curveballs come our way. We've got each other. Like anything else makes a difference.

Work is pretty status quo – as status quo as it ever is, I guess you could say. Hanson is getting his feet wet, but his rigidity gives me stomach cramps. Stan never got out the rule book for every little discrepancy. This staying-in-line one hundred percent of the time is exhausting. What makes it even worse is that Delia loves all the structure and has started reminding me of the regulations when we're in the field together. I did not sign on for this, Marshall.

Anyway, Norah is up from her nap so I'd better get her before she starts screeching. It's not like Brandi couldn't do it, but she's busy cruising Babies 'R' Us online. What a valuable pastime.

- Your Favorite Inspector, Mary

X

June 15th

Dear Mary,

I am disheartened to discover that your ongoing negativity seeps through into your dictations. I cannot find one sentence in your last e-mail that doesn't tell me you lead a very miserable life. Now, we both know this is not the case. While it is not _my_ place to tell you how to think or feel, I would encourage you to brighten your mood a bit. Focus on some of the sweeter portions of life. You have a lovely man to share your company. You have a beautiful daughter. You have a sister that will deliver a healthy baby in three months time. Many would kill for such an embarrassment of riches. Savor it.

For example, there is my existence at the moment; while not perfect; I am choosing to zero in on what is positive. Cliff and I have not exactly hit it off, but I have much to be grateful for. He may want to follow the letter of the law just as your Hanson does, and you and I both know the greatest secrets are often plumbed by bending the rules, but I have chosen to rely on his expertise. He has been a deputy for many years, and if not for him pulling the strings; D.C. would never have funded Abigail and I coming down. International transfers for my WITSEC crowd are tricky business, but we are managing to make it work. Speaking of Abigail, she has already taken to Cliff's no-nonsense attitude. She prefers protocol and Cliff thrives on such things. He actually reminds me of a younger version of my father, which explains why my new bride is so taken with him. Dad charmed his way right into her heart; he had her at hello.

You know I cannot spend a multitude of time talking about what I'm doing down here, but it is going smoothly enough. Some witnesses are models; living in families where drug-use and smuggling is rampant, they are more than ready to blow the whistle. Others, as we've seen before, are more along the lines of snitches just looking for a buck to America. It is odd trying to conduct my usual business, as I would in Albuquerque, while I am trying to adjust to the culture. My high school Spanish has nudged me along, but soon enough I am going to have to brush up a little more thoroughly if I want to communicate effectively. I made quite a gaffe the other day in trying to convey the old expression, 'You have egg on your face' in Spanish. But I mixed up 'huevo' with something else, and I do not believe it went over well.

About Norah – although not yet a year old, the toddler stage is on its way and toddlers are very egocentric. That is, they believe the world revolves around them and their needs. (Sound familiar?) The introduction of Oliver has forced her to share objects she has never had to split before. I, however, am optimistic. Oliver will get her warmed up for Brandi's baby, as there will no doubt be much more sharing going on in the future. Don't fault her for it. She is a baby. She will learn.

I best be getting on my way. Abigail ran downstairs to take a call when I was just starting my little message, and I hear the door signaling her return. Try to think nice, calming thoughts in the progression of your days. You will live in a much happier atmosphere, my friend.

- Marshall

XXX

**A/N: Hope you like it so far! I'm sure it seems like it's mostly fluff, but if I'm lucky, it's good fluff! I also know some of the chapter titles will be lame, but after writing the story and having Mary sign each of them differently, I couldn't think of a better way to head them.**


	3. Ex Work Wife

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews!**

XXX

June 16th

Listen gangly,

Tell me how positive _you_ think it is when you impregnate Abigail and end up with some munchkin of your own, and the kid is waking you up 'round the clock. Not just 'round the clock, but emitting all sorts of fluids to go with it – in colors you've never seen, with a consistency never felt. I'm harboring a secret suspicion that Norah is an alien. Something _that_ green does not come out of a human's nose, no matter how sick you are.

Oh, speaking of which. Yeah. Brandi caught a cold last week, and guess who she gave it to? My daughter. She might've been able to spare us all the grief if not for the fact that she bleated on about not taking medications while knocked-up. So, the symptoms persisted and got passed on to what is now quite the little snot-monster. This on top of the teething is far too much. Fortunately, Mark picked Norah up yesterday and has her until tomorrow night, so at least I get a break. I had to fill him full of reminders about what to give her and how much before he left though. No chances I'm letting that kind of illness stick around.

Who is this Cliff character? Judging by your reports, he needs a swift kick in the ass to knock the legislation out of his hands. I don't care how long he's been in the business; something tells me he is not in-the-know about WITSEC, and so you could seriously pull rank on him. Why not call up Stan so he can tell your tale to the men in charge? You've gotta stand up for yourself, Marshall. Especially if the wife somehow finds the boss to be brilliant. Sounds like you're on your own, my star-wielding inspector. Maybe you can bank on the shine of your emblem to blind this guy when he needs it.

Take Hanson, for example. He was going to make me drive all the way out to Las Cruces to check on a witness (bad memories of Carlos, the alpacas, and fat feet) just because this one happened to be _my_ witness. But I was tied up with this hurricane of a woman who was freaking out because she worried some angry ex-boyfriend was going to track her down and shoot her with his stun gun (won't believe what you're missing.) But seriously, how could I go? I wanted to send Delia, but he wouldn't budge. I had to stand there and talk her up like some total sap for at least fifteen minutes before he let her on the case. Now she thinks I like her. It's hard to take two steps back.

Anyway, I have to book it. The phone's squawking and I've already ignored it twice.

- Your (Ex) Work-Wife

X

June 21st

Dear Mary,

I suppose I can muster up some sympathy to be administered on behalf of a sickly Norah. However, it is likely she is on the mend right now. I do apologize for being detained in my reply, but there has been much to do and Abigail and I are spending most of our free time together. Despite being work companions, we do not see quite as much of each other as one might think. We try to reserve the hours we do have to decompress with a movie, shared book, or two.

All of this is not to say that I cannot make time for you. That would be the time I am making right now, and I wanted to be able to give your message my undivided attention (as undivided as it is these days.) I merely hope that, while Norah might be feeling better, that you have not caught the bug that she contracted. An under-par Mary is never much fun, and I do not envy your sister or my dog being around such an attitude. I have neglected to ask, but Abigail reminded me today. Oscar is flourishing, I trust? You have not turned him into a fur coat yet?

It is not as though I have little to report. It's more as though I have nothing I _can_ report. Not in too much detail anyway. While you are a trusted confidante, it is more the idea of sending it across cyberspace that worries me. 'Breaching the veil of WITSEC' as you once referred to it, is risky enough but you know me and my secure hookups. I do what I can. 'Marshall Miller' on my address label might fool the outside world for the meantime.

Speaking of e-mail – I suppose – I did hear from Stan a few days ago. He said he was going to touch base with you as well, but I have not heard back since our initial correspondence. D.C. is welcoming him with open arms, something I was thrilled to be privy to. He had to do some strong-arming of some of the old big wigs, but in the end he showed them who the new sheriff in town really is. On a somewhat unrelated but nonetheless pleasing note, Lia, formerly known as the 'personal event' is looking to join him soon. Wedding bells have not been heard, but it seems she is looking for studio space in Washington to be closer. Ah, love in the summertime. It is, I'm sure you would say, unbearably sweet.

While we are on the mention of wedding bells, I believe it is time I joined my relatively new bride. Two nights ago, we started delving into 'As You Like It' which, as you'll recall, was your engagement gift to us. Quite a page-turner, I must admit.

- Marshall

XXX

**A/N: My good friend Jayne said this seemed mostly happy so far, and it has! It has its twists and turns later, though!**


	4. Sneeze Snatcher

**A/N: Thanks again for reviewing! For some of these chapters, you might have to go back and refresh what happened prior if it wasn't especially significant, so you'll know what Mary's talking about in her next letter (if that makes any sense at all!)**

XXX

June 24th

Look here, Romeo,

I do not need to hear about your offbeat brand of lovemaking with Abigail – do you think I need to know that Shakespeare gets you all hot and bothered? I gave you that book so I could properly erase the image of you in the drag queen getup. Call me crazy, but picturing you in tights and some sort of beret with a feather was less painful. Less nightmare-inducing, we'll call it. Then there's just the sadness that is a pair of newlyweds trading lines like you're in some horrific parody movie of yourselves. I hope Abigail lets you play the guy, so you can at least preserve what is left of your masculinity. Promise me you will fire your gun just for the hell of it – just to scare off some pesky birds or something. It will ease my mind in the evenings.

Norah is a little more mucus-free these days, since you brought it up. But, I swear; it is never too early to teach a kid how to blow their nose. Norah is already smart enough she just lets the mess drip down her face where it eventually lands on her clothes. But, I don't even want to go into details about where it leaks into before that. I must've cashed out on tissues last week, but fortunately Brandi's been doing her part a little more comprehensively. A few days ago, she actually gave Norah a bath after she dumped an entire bowl of spaghetti over her head. Isn't that kind of cliché? (The spaghetti on her head, I mean.) I didn't think rugrats actually did things like that, but she ate two bites and then went Greek on me. Flung the thing up and it was raining noodles. And sauce. Mind you, I didn't need anyone to come knocking at that point. The marinara looked suspiciously like blood with the way it was streaked on her cheeks. But yeah – Brandi actually changed her and got her in the bathtub. I was floored too.

Your mutt is fine, Mr. Compulsive, but he's no Lassie. I haven't actually begun calling him 'Oaf' as promised, but Oscar is getting used less and less in lieu of 'Bonehead.' He started chewing a pair of Brandi's shoes, and so I got him this cheap bone at the store. Every time I come home, he prances up to me with that ridiculous toy like he expects me to take it. When I don't, he drops it on the hardwood which makes this ungodly thud and practically attacks me with his tongue until I do some tug-of-war with him. This is not a normal animal we're dealing with. He only acts the part when Norah is around. I don't know what the deal is, but he transforms and lets her crawl all over him; just sitting on the ground like he's the couch or something. It's not like I mind. Norah's been trying to pull herself up lately and he's giving her some decent practice. He ought to be good for something, because I am totally billing you for what he's doing to my floors.

I got a call from Stan too, but he couldn't talk long. He just mentioned you should definitely get a landline because even with all the high-tech crap they have up in D.C., he still couldn't reach you on your cell. I kind of fear what could happen to you all lost from civilization, cheekbones. I know you're ridding the world of evil and all, but come on. Twenty-first century here.

Say hi to Abigail. And you better tell me next time if you're giving that Cliff a piece of your mind.

- Sneeze-Snatcher Mary

X

June 27th

Dear Mary,

Sneeze-snatcher _and_ spaghetti-snatcher, it would seem (powerful alliteration, right there.) Is it possible that Norah is simply not a fan of your cooking? I seem to recall a time several years ago when you attempted to make me enchiladas after I passed my license renewal exam, and they were quite the interesting concoction. Or, could it be that Brandi is trying her hand at some domestication and her food-preparation skills take after her sister's?

I kid, of course. The more likely possibilities are that Norah is just not hungry when she tosses her meal, or she is not yet developed enough to handle feeding herself. Before you start breaking your keyboard over my latter suggestion, I advise you to take a step back. Think about how Norah feels if she can't even pick up her food and she wants some. She needs her mother to help her. There is nothing wrong with that, I can promise you. Ten months is still quite the messy stage, and I do believe she's still getting new teeth, yes? I just hope you are able to relate to your daughter in the sense that if _you_ were unable to nourish yourself and starving, the rest of the world would have a lot more to fear than airborne spaghetti. I'd be snapping out the way of your glock, that is for certain.

Oscar, like your child, wants attention. While he is more self-sufficient than an infant, he blossoms under human interaction. Without that, he will indeed nibble on your shoes – your furniture, your pant leg, etcetera. George didn't have a lot of time in which to train him before being forced to give him up and, unfortunately, Abigail and I did not either. I know you are busy with work, but I do appreciate your keeping him for us. I am comforted knowing you have a backyard he can run around in, and am very pleased he has taken to Norah so kindly.

It is plausible I can make you feel as though a home with a baby and a dog is really quite the easy set of circumstances. Today, I spoke with a man (we won't discuss why,) who is one of seven children, and has eight of his own ranging from four to nineteen; six boys, and two girls. Inspector, I have to tell you that he was very proud of his flock, and they were all extremely well-kept despite not having a mother in the picture. It was uplifting for me to see that those six aunts and uncles were around to help their brother in a time of need. Though there may be tough moments ahead, I have no doubt that they will solider through and come out better on the other side.

I do not wish to discuss Cliff in excess, but since you asked I suppose I can give you an update. There is no need for me to stand up for myself, as you might know if you weren't so busy getting your jabs in. I am perfectly capable of coexisting with my boss and, as I say, he and Abigail run on the same wavelength. It is encouraging and often helpful that she is there to bridge whatever the gaps between us.

Tell Brandi I hope she has a better reaction to your spaghetti-brewing skills than Norah might have.

- Marshall

XXX

**A/N: Glad some of you are enjoying! XOXO**


	5. Boring Best Friend

**A/N: Thanks for reading! XOXO**

XXX

June 29th

Marshall… (Or should I say 'Modern Mom Marshal?')

Why do you know so much about children when you don't even have any? I could also beg that question about pregnancy. You frightened me something awful after letting me know you were well-read in the ways of Braxton Hicks and the mucus plug. (I am having flashbacks even thinking about it! See what you've done to me?) Did you _not_ listen to my concerns about your manliness? Seriously, how does Abigail keep you in check? I'd assume she was the guy in your relationship, but the cheerleader quality just shy of hair bows kind of shoots that theory down the drain. Just so you know, I wasn't looking for advice about Norah's bowl heaving. I'm not allowed to tell stories now without you spouting off?

(I suppose I should throw an 'I kid' in here as well, since you did. I suppose. But don't go repeating it, okay?)

_Seven_ kids? Jesus, somebody has been busy; that's all I can say. Just considering it gives me a headache. Why were you even talking to this poor sap? Is he a potential? What kind of wife does he have that would dump him with seven mouths to feed? You might want to keep that one below the border for some quality time; give him some words of wisdom about his brood. Judging by your tone, he is definitely a 'wronged by an asshole' contender. Don't you worry about them adapting to life on the other side? He's barely going to have time to breathe, let alone set up house. What's funding looking like for an eight-person entry, doofus? (Glad I'm not handling _that_ one!)

I met Kenny and Oliver at the park with Norah yesterday. Fortunately, my itty-bitty rascal did a little better with her compadre. She had to have her own swing though; I can guarantee you that. They have a couple sets that are doubles, and Norah wouldn't have any part of it. Can't fault her for keeping her distance and wanting her space. But, swinging the kids gave Kenny and me some time to talk. Sometimes, I don't really know what I'm supposed to say to him. He's nice enough, and his jokes are so lame they're funny, but outside of that I'm blank. I kind of wonder if he's getting bored with me; I can only snark for so long before anyone but you stops finding it amusing. I haven't been with anyone since Raph (not counting Mark, I guess,) and I wince just thinking I'm somehow out-of-practice. Suppose I'm only good at one thing when it comes to men? And don't go imagining what that one thing is, Marshall, or you can bet I'll beat your butt right back to Mexico the second you get home.

Brandi's been waiting to eat dinner; I promised we'd go out tonight since Mark has Norah again, and I wasn't as swamped at work today. Squish is craving Chinese (she's craving everything, actually, but I'm trying not to blame her for it.)

- Your boring best friend, Mary

X

July 2nd

Dear Mary,

I could not possibly think of a single word with which to describe your oft-depicted personality, but 'boring' would most absolutely _not_ be the one I would choose. 'Boring' translates to many useful synonyms – uninteresting, dull, lackluster, perhaps even tiresome. But, aside from 'tiresome,' which is likely where I would place your frequently exhibited disapproval, none of these are very fitting to you. And while I am not going to envision that 'one thing' of which you speak, I have complete confidence you can actually carry on an adult conversation with Kenny. Find out his interests (yes, even if they differ from your own.) What does he do for a living? (Hopefully you already know this.) Would he speak about Oliver's mother? You do have something in common, both being single parents. I would propose you build off that, regardless of whether you want my guidance or not. (I am so touched, by the way.)

My seven-spawned companion has already been relocated, and quite happily I might add. I am always so bolstered by those who are eager to make a fresh start, even those who had nothing to do with their misfortune in the first place. His children were a trifle anxious about making such a big move, but they too seemed to warm to the idea by the time I sent them on their way. Cliff even approved of the way I handled the crowd, but I do suspect Abigail might have put him up to the compliments. He has not been cold or distant, but merely a little tight-lipped about my successes. Abigail has her ideas about this; she believes Cliff is aware of my talent, but is finding it difficult to admit to it. And for a person of power, I can understand such qualms. As I have said before, our styles are dissimilar; Cliff is more 'fly by the seat of your pants,' while I am somewhat more calculating. I am sure we will mesh eventually (likely around the time I am set to return to Albuquerque.)

Do you have plans for Independence Day? I, being in Mexico of course, will not be celebrating such a holiday, but I hope you will break your mold and do something fun – it is Norah's first, after all. Is she getting appreciably bigger? Sprouting hair? I would tell you to send a picture, but anything I need to download on my laptop takes quite an eternity. Unfortunately, it looks as though a landline is becoming a little unrealistic as well. But, as I say, Abigail and I are able to communicate within the province and for now, that is what counts.

Speaking of Abigail; I do know you are only teasing in that ever-so-charming way of yours, but I feel it is my duty as a doting husband to tell you to go easy on the 'cheerleader' jokes. I am not offended in the least, my friend, but Abigail is my wife and I wouldn't want her to think I was laughing behind her back. You understand, of course, even if you pretend not to. Pep and positivity never hurt us, you know.

Take care. Hope Brandi is feeling well.

- Marshall

XXX

**A/N: I promise there is more plot than just the back-and-forth, but it hasn't arrived yet LOL!**


	6. Very Sleep Deprived

**A/N: I got a few new reviews last night! Thank-you!**

XXX

July 5th

Hey cowboy,

Don't tell me you took my barbs about Abigail seriously. That was my weak-ass smack, pal. You should see what I'm hiding up my sleeve. I'd put one of those 'wink' faces in there, but you know I'm not about that shit. I'm not fourteen, and I'm not Brandi.

So, Fourth of July. Ick. You had to ask, right? You just had to remind me that I was forced to be patriotic and jovial and pretend like holidays have any significance in my life. You'll know this Marshall; who the hell decided fireworks were part of the Fourth of July? Seriously, did John Adams sign the Declaration of Independence and then go ferment some explosives in the courthouse to shoot off with congressmen? Why do I doubt it? Whoever made such a decision needs to be slapped upside the head. I'll tell you why when I simmer down a bit.

You better not go broadcasting this, but the frivolity we put on during the day actually wasn't terrible. Mark and Jinx and Joanna came over to the house to hang out with Norah, and Mark barbecued out back. I hate to admit it, but he's kind of a whiz on the grill. He made these amazing seasoned burgers and Joanna brought over mustard potato salad. I really didn't care what the crew did after that; I spent most of my time fending Brandi off and away from the food, because she ate an ass load of grub. Who knew someone who used to be so tiny could pack it in while carting around a rug-rat? Can't say I haven't been there, though.

It got pretty hot in the afternoon, so Jinx put Norah back in the pool. She got drenched when Oscar barreled through after a squirrel or something, but it was sort of funny, believe it or not. That mongrel only tipped the right side of the pool, so Norah just kind of flopped under and rolled over like some caterpillar on the bottom before Jinx yanked her out. She didn't even cry, but she did get a ton of water up her nose, and so I took her inside and dried her off after that. Last thing I need is my kid ending up on the news for nearly drowning in a plastic pool.

It was the fireworks that ruined everything, and I'm not kidding by any stretch of the imagination. I'd _just_ gotten Norah to bed when some douche bag about three doors down started blasting them off right in the middle of the street. I don't even care if they're illegal in the county or not; you bet your ass I marched right outside and gave them what for. Didn't go over very well, Poindexter. It was three kids, probably not any older than sixteen and they smelled like a brewery. I was pissed I couldn't bust them without any alcohol on the premises, but I scared them pretty shitless with my badge. That was sweet; I've gotta say.

Except, by the time I got back to the house, Norah was already up and not thrilled about being stuck with Brandi. She moaned for an hour and a half before I got her to go down again. Of course, Brandi fell asleep on the couch seconds after I relieved her of Norah, which I really didn't appreciate. I ended up calling Jinx because I was worried about Norah's eardrums. You don't know what sort of things I'm resorting to without you around to ask, Marshall. But, Norah is growing (not like she's gonna get smaller, smart one.) She doesn't have much hair yet. It's still all wispy on top, and I can't tell if it's going to be light or dark. She's still working on pulling herself up, but keeps plunging over onto Oscar when she can't quite manage.

Hope you're enjoying your inspectorly duties, and tell Abigail I wish her well or some such crap so she doesn't think I'm picking on her. You know I'm not. Right? If I'm picking on her, I'm picking on everybody.

- A Very Sleep-Deprived Mary

X

July 8th

Dear Mary,

I cannot tell you how delighted I am that you posed such an inquiry about fireworks. Could it be that you are actually gleeful about expanding your knowledge? Whatever the reason, I am more than happy to oblige. Originally, citizens of the newly minted United States did not shoot off fireworks; they shot off muskets, cannons, or rifles to signify what a war it took to reach America's freedom. It was in a letter to Abigail Adams on July the third that John Adams declared he had envisioned fireworks as part of celebrating the nation's newfound liberty. He wanted the country's independence to be marked with merriment of the grandest kind, and his tradition has carried even two-hundred and thirty-six years later.

However, it is my belief that Mr. Adams did not intend for irresponsible Americans to get sloshed while commemorating such a victory. My sincerest apologies about Norah's nighttime debacle. While I did not think you would drag her out to watch a lighted display, I did wonder whether some rowdy neighbors would disturb her usual sleep schedule. Infants take most unkindly to loud noises, but I am sure having you back home after you sat on the teenagers was soothing for her. (Even if it did take awhile for you to get her drift off to dreamland once more.) Regardless of the bitter ending, I am glad the rest of your carousing was up-to-par. I will have to get Mark to make me one of his newly famous burgers when I come back to the homeland.

Abigail and I shared some beers to mark the anniversary of our nation's birth, but we were both working for the majority of the day. (Suffice it to say, not being in America, the Fourth is not anticipated.) The day before yesterday, I had to question a young girl who was caught in a huge drug bust about two miles from the border patrol. Most of the guys she was hanging around with were early to mid-twenties, and I was certain she couldn't have been more than thirteen or fourteen. Her English is limited and she didn't have any ID on her, and so it's been a bit of a rough road. We're holding her here until we can figure out how she's involved, and if she has parents. We can't put her in the program until we know the whole story, as you well know.

You neglected to mention in your last note what has become of you and Kenny. Have you passed into calmer waters, or are we still trapped in the undercurrent? Was he able to make it to the house for your Fourth of July hoopla? This is what happens when you withhold from your best friend. I am an esteemed US Marshal, inspector. You can hide nothing from me.

- Marshall

XXX

**A/N: Feels sort of strange to right altering Fourth of July plans after my holiday series with Robyn – but don't want to be repetitious! ;) **


	7. Don't Mess

**A/N: I give hugs for reviews! ;)**

XXX

July 12th

What are we, gossip girls, Marshall?

Why are you so interested in my love life? It's not like I probe you for information about what you and Abigail are up to outside of ripping into the felons. Does it even matter what's 'going on' with me and Kenny? Nothing's going on; that's what's going on. I told you we weren't a couple. You think just because of a few awkward words by the swings we're gonna 'break up' or something? Please. We're not twelve.

There's nothing to say about Kenny's 'interests,' as I believed you mentioned not long ago. He likes football and, as you know, I hate football. He's already talking about getting Oliver into some munchkin league, which is ridiculous because he's even younger than Norah. I don't even know what his job is, at least not really. He works in an office building for some software company, but I don't get the impression he's a techie. I think he's probably a secretary or something, but I haven't asked. I've got no need to know every waking detail of his existence. You're worse than Jinx and Brandi wanting to know the run-down; they both practically had a fit when I started seeing him. But, I'm not seeing him. Not right now. Got it, lanky?

I don't even know what to ask you about, because you can't tell me anyway, and I'm not sure I even want to know. I guess I could say it sucks about this girl you've got to deal with. How could you all take such a crew down there and not have a translator? I'd tell you to call Stan to see if he can send someone, but we're going to lose him his job with all these favors we keep getting D.C. to finagle. And, I keep forgetting you don't have a phone. Seriously, Marshall. You better not have gone Amish if and when you ever get back here. I may have to seriously reconsider our friendship, because you couldn't pay me to go without my Blackberry.

Norah's teething again, and it's a nightmare. She keeps chewing on her fingers, which means she drools all over her clothes and I have to change her about six times a day. You wouldn't believe how many loads of laundry I am doing, but its way more than I can afford; I can promise you that. Brandi was actually helpful yesterday night, which shocked me to my very core. Norah woke up about one o'clock and would _not_ stop screaming, but Brandi let me sleep for a little while and took her for a ride in the car. I suppose I'll be in real trouble when she ends up going into labor at the wheel, but I really didn't give a damn yesterday; I was so tired. Sometimes, I feel like I could sleep for about a week and _still_ be tired.

I've gotta get to work. Delia is expecting me; paperwork with a new witness. I swear, it never stops, and Hanson already got on my ass last week when I was late on Monday.

- Don't Mess with Mary

X

July 15th

Dear Mary,

Someone sounds cranky. It almost makes me nostalgic for banter at the Sunshine Building. We could even make bets on whether or not you and Kenny would survive for the long haul, or whether you would stick it out enough to give it a chance. Does your last e-mail indicate that you have already kicked him to the curb? Mare, I do encourage you to hold out if you like him at all. Sometimes relationships take time; they don't happen overnight. Him liking football and you completely against sports of any kind isn't the best reason to throw in the towel. If there are legitimate concerns, then by all means get out while you can. But, if there is anything there, just give it a whirl. For me. I found someone, you know. It's not so unrealistic to believe you could too.

Does Norah not prefer Popsicles or frozen treats when her teeth are bothering her so severely? Some kids can be tricky about what makes their gums feel numb while they cut teeth. I am sorry it's been such a hassle, although good for Brandi that she's helping out. Does Jinx have a particularly full schedule at the studio? What I am steering toward with that question is whether or not she is available to lend a hand. I know you mentioned before I left that Joanna got some part time work since she's going to be staying in Albuquerque. It sounds like you have your hands full while everybody gets their ducks in a row. Fear not; I am sure the team will get what they can squared away soon. In the meantime, I don't think Delia would say no to a few baby-sitting gigs. She is crazy about Norah. Then again; I've never met a person who wasn't.

Well, it's been a week, but my diminutive darling mixed up with the wrong crowd is still being held in custody. We have had quite the time trying to track down her parents. A few days ago, we were able to ascertain that her mother is somewhere nearby, but it doesn't look like there's a father to consult. The number of single-parent homes in this vicinity is alarming, and seems so rough on the children. But, as I said in my last message; this wee one has developed very little English (which is not to say I'm blaming her; she hasn't needed it until now, and she's still so young.) She doesn't attempt speaking most of the time anyway, which leads me to believe she must be very frightened. It's amazing how much you glean about someone just from their eyes. This young lady, while she may have gotten in a knot with some dangerous people, hasn't really had an opportunity to break free. She's truly striking for someone so adolescent; long, shiny dark hair and enormous brown eyes. I find myself hoping we are able to help her and give her another shot.

Catch up on some sleep, my friend. It will make life easier, not just for you, but for everyone around you. I'll be thinking relaxing thoughts on your behalf.

- Marshall

XXX

**A/N: XOXO is all I have to say! **


	8. Irrational and Proud of It

**A/N: Thank-you to those who are reviewing!**

XXX

July 20th

Marshall…why must you be so reasonable?

Seriously. I am right in the middle of bitching and you have to remind me of all the rational routes I could be taking. You know I don't approve of such things. And honestly, being rational would make me even drier than I already am. It's not like Kenny would want to be with me then. What guy does? Come on; I lost Raph because I shoved him away every time he got too close. I lost Mark about a thousand years ago because he was a big kid and _that's_ not something I can be tied to forever. And, I lost my father. Twice, as a matter of fact. Near as I can tell, the only guy I haven't loosened my grip on is you. But, we've already discussed this of course. It's not like you're really a guy.

Jinx actually is totally flooded at the studio, which is so insane I can't even wrap my head around it. But, I guess a lot of parents want to sign their girls up for the fall when school starts. I don't understand these parents who want to pile everything on _after_ school starts. It boggles my mind. By the time the kids get out of school and get done with soccer or dance or little league or whatever the hell else they offer these days, it's like six o'clock. And then, everyone's crabby and hungry and so pissed it's not like the lessons are really worth it. Not to mention, everyone heads off to work the next day completely exhausted before they do it all over again. Is the human race not smarter than this concept? Norah can content herself with swimming lessons in the summer, and then forget it once she's back in school. I've already decided.

Don't get sucked into the woes of this girl of yours. You haven't forgotten Dom, have you? Like to tinker with explosives and blow up women who said no to dinner? He claimed his family was holding all the cards, which is why he turned to a life of crime. He hadn't changed, and if this girl wanted to go down the straight and narrow, she might've done it. I'm not ruling out the possibility she had no choice, especially with what you've told me about the area in which you're working. But, be cautious. You're too much of a softy sometimes, and I don't want you in trouble with that Cliff character. Can you get Abigail to suck up to him for you?

In-between free moments here at Chez Shannon, I am trying to help Brandi find a job for the first of the year. I figure with the baby coming in September, she could legitimately start revving up in January when the kid is about three months old. Unfortunately, Brandi's workplace skills aren't exactly glowing. She keeps telling me she'll just waitress, but she can't live on that and there's no way in hell she's staying here for another year. I've also been haranguing her about the baby's father, because if he can be paying up he should. Every little bit helps, I tell you.

Let me know how the wife is. You finish that romance novel I gave you yet?

- Irrational [And Proud Of It] Mary

X

July 23rd

Dear Mary,

You are none-too-skillfully avoiding the question, inspector. You don't think I can spot a 'non-answer' when it comes to these types of things? I _was_ promoted to chief for a reason, despite taking a backseat just a month out to sharpen my skills with my wife. Why is it that you do not want to divulge what is going on with Kenny? Already gone belly-up? Or could it be that you are getting close to him and do not wish to jinx the situation? (I was not 'verbing' your mother, by the way.) I do hope, for your sake, that it is not the idea of yet another child in the midst of your already chaotic existence that is off-putting. I know that adding Oliver to the mix of Norah, Oscar, and Brandi's child-to-be may seem daunting, but if you have feelings for Kenny it might be worth a try. You fell hard for Norah. You could fall hard for another too.

I have an update on 'my girl' as you called her. For now, we are going to don her Maria. It is a popular name down here, but it is not hers, and as I can't divulge her proper moniker; this will have to do. We were able to get in touch with her mother, which was initially a relief. From what we could ascertain, the mother had no clue her daughter was in so deep in drug activity. When we found her, she was clean except for the premises around her, and we were able to run the drug test today with the mother's consent – not a whiff. Now, of course, since it's been about a week and a half since Maria's been in custody, there's no telling how accurate such a test might be. However, we are slowing weaning them into the idea of joining the program in the US. Maria appears open to testifying against this group, but the mother is hesitant. Most of the people we have worked with that are not criminals have been. Trying to surpass the language barrier is challenging enough without the added stress of rebuilding a home in another country.

Unfortunately, since I have been so busy with Maria and her situation, Abigail and I have not seen as much of each other. She spends a lot of time conferring with the few other detectives that were brought from the states, not to mention Cliff. They're getting along spectacularly, which bodes well for me down the line. I'm thinking of inviting him to dinner with the two of us when I get this state of affairs with Maria all settled.

Listen Mary, I know I pull your leg about the men in your life, but I hope you don't feel like you can't tell me what's really going on with Kenny. A few months back, when I told you I wanted you to be happy; I really meant that. I know it's been difficult trying to take a step back since I've married Abigail, but I think we're all adjusting well. And, I'm aware it sounded daunting at first; that whole 'release me' business, but I'm starting to get a little more comfortable with it. I hope you feel the same way, but I want you to tell me if you don't. We have the distance to deal with now, but that doesn't mean we can't work things out. In fact, it might be even easier to do so with a boundary between us. We'll have it all set up and in place by the time I get back. A win-win situation, yes?

Give Norah a kiss from me, and tell her I miss her. I don't care if she can't understand; I want you to do it anyway.

- Marshall

XXX

**A/N: I know I said it'll be more than 'fluff' eventually, and it will be – promise!**


	9. Broken Up

**A/N: Nothing to say upfront! Enjoy!**

XXX

July 27th

Oh, my little nitwit,

What am I going to do with you? This prying is really obnoxious, and if there was a way for me to hop a plane and give you a piece of my mind about it, I would. Unfortunately, it seems the only way to get you to ease up is to tell you the truth. I wasn't keeping it from you on purpose (not _really_.) I was just trying to figure out the best way to say it so that you wouldn't go off the deep end, thinking I've been dumped or something. I'm not traumatized, and with or without Kenny; my life is perfectly lovely. (Well, maybe not lovely, but not as much of a sinkhole as I make it out to be.)

Kenny and I stopped seeing each other. This is nothing earth-shattering. I stop seeing men all the time; in fact, I'm pretty good at it. For example, I've stopped seeing you. That wasn't so hard, was it? All you had to do was leave the country for it to happen. I suppose my stepping into that minefield means I have to answer your questions about what we went through right after my father died. Abigail had every right to ask you to step away from me. We just don't think sometimes about how much we fall back on each other, and you have a wife now. I can't be running to you for everything that goes awry. It's not what I do anyway. I have myself; I rely on myself for all sorts of things, and it's never hurt me. Besides, I have Brandi and her enormous belly these days. Worry about your wife, Marshall. Don't worry about me and one of my frequently failed relationships. If it was meant to be, Kenny and I would still be giving it a go. But, it wasn't, so we're not, and that is that. It's not like I'm upset about it.

Speaking of Brandi, the job search is going rather slowly. I'm trying to get her to practice her interview skills with Jinx or Mark when he's around, but she seems to think she kind of…sells herself. I told her there's only one job where you 'sell yourself' and if she gets _that_ kind of job, there's no way she's dumping her bags on my doorstep ever again. We haven't had much luck yet, but at least she doesn't need to get anything until January. But, I just _know_ that she'll put work on the backburner when the baby comes and it'll be months before she even starts looking again. I have to keep harassing her about it, and I really wish it hadn't become something _I'm_ supposed to do. If I don't though, she'll never get out of here.

I had yet another confrontation with Hanson yesterday, and it wasn't pretty. Our funding is so God dammed tight that he's become a real cheapskate, and he wouldn't let me phone in to D.C. to get a stretch on a stipend. But, one of my witnesses has a kid in leg braces and the monthly check isn't covering the medical bills. I keep trying to convince him the parents aren't spending unwisely, but he put his foot down. I continually wonder if we still had Eleanor if she'd go to bat for me, but then I remember how little sleep I've gotten and how ludicrous such a concept sounds.

Delia says to give you her best, and that she'll e-mail with an update of her own soon (so beware.) I have to tell you, doofus, that you can't continue with this mushy stuff. I'm fine. My house is constantly full of people. There's no way in hell I could be lonely.

I hope things work out with Maria.

- A Broken-Up Mary

X

July 31st

Dear Mary,

Whatever effect it may or may not be having on you, I am sorry to hear about what has happened with Kenny. I'd ask you what went wrong, but do not wish to dwell on it if you don't. I will also spare you the 'there are other fish in the sea' spiel and encourage you to move on. It sounds as though you already have, and in my experience, you never have trouble with it. One of your best qualities is your resilience (mushy, be damned. I am simply stating a fact.) All I will say is that I hope you didn't end things because you thought he was getting tired of you, or that you had to be someone other than who you are. I severely doubt Kenny found you, to use your word, 'boring.' Whatever zest you might or might not have lacked can be understood. You have a high-demand profession, a sister to look after, not to mention a dog and a young daughter. I would think a single father would sympathize with such plights, but that is enough on that subject.

Like Brandi's work escapades, the transition with Maria is dragging itself along. However, I do believe we are almost ready for the transfer. We discovered in lengthy conversations with her mother (helped along by a translator, who has been a Godsend,) that Maria is indeed quite young. She's just a month shy of fourteen and got tangled up in the crowd she was with due to an older brother already in far too deep. The brother has not been located, and even if he is he'll promptly be arrested. Sadly but somewhat stoically, neither Maria nor her mother seems overly concerned about him. Since Maria's agreed to testify, it's obvious she's ready to put it all behind her. According to both, Maria was sent off with her brother quite frequently to avoid having to stay home alone while the mother worked. As you well know, it's a rough neighborhood, but it is tragic to think a sibling dragged his sister into an even more dangerous zone on a daily basis.

By the way, I'll stop this as soon as I've said my piece. Whatever Abigail's doubts about the two of us, I think we have both proved it is nothing more than close friendship. I told you I had a talk with her about when and where it is more necessary to be with you. Of course, that was before we agreed to come down here, but as far as I can tell, she was receptive of the proposals I presented. Mary, I want you to know this. I don't regret having been at the hospital when you found out about your father; your mother and sister were thousands of miles away and James had very nearly passed away in your arms. I know you still feel guilty about our engagement party, but it's been made clear to Abigail that when circumstances are dire, I can't simply ignore a camaraderie that has lasted this long. I can assure you that she understands that. She knows how we have been e-mailing back and forth, and has said nary a word about it.

How is Norah doing? You haven't mentioned in your last couple messages. Are her teeth still bothering her? Keep in mind what I said about a cheese cloth filled with a frozen banana.

- Marshall

XXX

**A/N: It wasn't that I didn't like Kenny on the show (I actually liked him better than Abigail.) I just never got the impression Mary was that interested in him. I think she tolerated him as she tolerates most people, but her stamina for a relationship really wasn't at a high so soon after her father died. (Not that her stamina for a relationship is ever really in full swing LOL!)**


	10. Muffin Muncher

**A/N: Thanks if you've been reading or reviewing!**

XXX

August 3rd

My favorite ninny,

Kenny said he wasn't ready for a relationship. Are you happy? Now you know. He said, since he only divorced Oliver's mother about a month after he was born that it was way too soon to be romancing about with another woman. He claimed his bed-hopping has been a way to make old wounds close up, but that it hasn't been working very well; that he needs to step back and focus on his son. It was all very, 'It's not you, it's me,' and regardless of how I felt or feel about him, I didn't appreciate it. It's such a classic and cowardly response; I thought he was cleverer than that. I know hooking up with a guy who divorces the second he lands himself with a kid probably wasn't the smartest, but it's not like he told me what he was going through. He was all smooth and suave, and I could tell he was being aloof on purpose, but I was willing to give it a shot. Mostly because you told me to, but count this as one of the few times you were wrong, Marshall. I suppose a speech is coming my way about having my own 'fling' after James kicked the bucket, but save yourself the trouble. I've anticipated every part of it that is going to come spewing from your keyboard.

And, just for posterity, I don't want to talk about Abigail outside of hearing how she's doing and how you guys are managing. I don't need her thinking we're reconsidering our options on this. I like her Marshall; I like her a lot, even though we're as polar opposite as it is possible to be. Regardless of my disdain for such things, she's kind and sweet (so much so my teeth often rot,) and she makes you happy. By all accounts, you make her happy too. If I'm not standing in the way of that, then fine; but discussing it further is really not necessary. What also doesn't need to be discussed further is my father. Put it on the backburner, got it?

Norah's great. She's had a decent week with her teeth and hasn't been as fussy. She also seems to be teaching Oscar a few things. She's graduated to using the coffee table to pull herself up, and every time she does, Oscar stops whatever he's sniffing around and watches her from about two inches away. If I didn't know he had a brain the size of a pea, I'd think he was watching to make sure didn't fall, or so he could soften the blow. Nevertheless, Norah hasn't had a lot of good fortune in getting all the way up to her feet. She's almost there, but spends so much time bouncing her legs trying to get situated that she usually smacks onto her butt before she stands the rest of the way. Otherwise, she is pretty much status quo. I swear though, the minute it struck the first of August it got brutally hot. I've had to buy her a ton of sleeveless sleepers because she only has a couple, and if I don't want to be doing laundry every five seconds I needed some backups. Most of the time though, I just let her sit around in her diaper and a T-shirt. It makes changing her a hundred times easier.

You're going to wish you were here come tomorrow, doofus. Delia promised she'd make those muffins with the cappuccino frosting. Not to worry though; I'll eat your share.

- Muffin-Muncher-Mary

X

August 7th

Dear Mary,

I am aware that you informed me it is time to can the sap, but unfortunately (for you, I suppose,) this is not a good day to do that. I hope you will permit me to gush as heartily as I see fit before battening the hatches for a suitable period of later dates. At any rate, I couldn't allow today to go by without letting you know that I am thinking about you.

I do not know what your plans are for this day of all days, but I hope you know I regret very deeply that I cannot be in attendance for Norah's first birthday. It seems rather staggering when I think about it – that she can be a year old already. It really does seem like just yesterday that she came howling in eight weeks early, ready to take on the world no matter what the timetable indicated. Corny as you may find it, I have always felt she is like her mother in this way. Norah wouldn't stop for anything; she wouldn't come unless it was on her own terms, and in her own time. August 7th or September 30th when you were due; she decided the moment had presented itself and was ready to rock and roll.

Although it is Norah's date of birth, I cannot help thinking of the circumstances of today a little differently. I don't look at it as Norah's birthday as much as I do the anniversary of the day you became a mother. If you were to ask me, that is as much an accomplishment as the day any of us comes into the world. After all, what did _we_, as infants, really do to get ourselves here? We follow nature's progression when it rears its head and take it away. It's the mother who does the work; who puts the blood, sweat, and tears into the twenty-four hours – and sometimes more – that marks what we as society call a birthday. I know you do not find these things as fascinating as I do, but I hope you'll give me a pass on it if I ask nicely enough.

We both recall August 7th as quite a whirlwind, and I know it brings _some_ memories you would rather forget to the forefront. But, I find myself trusting that you realize how far you've come in just a year, Mary. Brandi, while she may have had a rocky road, is back and making an attempt to get her life together. Jinx is almost four years sober. You've made something of a friend in Mark, and even in his mother. You may not look at your life in such a way, but viewing it from afar, I have noticed such things, even if not in the last few months I've been gone. You have much to be proud of, and whether you choose to acknowledge it or not is up to you. I am prepared to take whatever snark you may deliver at the sappiness that is this note.

What I remember exactly three-hundred-and-sixty-five days back is in bits and pieces. What I _can_ tell you is that I was honored to have been in attendance even in a small capacity. I know you don't exactly look at it as your shining hour, but in a way it had its own glimmer. Not many women can say they've rid the town of evil, consoled a runaway bride, and had a baby eight weeks early all in one afternoon. What is sharpest is the way that you fought; the way you always do. No matter how much pain you were in, no matter how scared you were, you hung on hard and fast and birthed Norah into this world regardless of the cost to yourself. There are few days I have admired your strength more.

It is difficult for me to wrap my head around the fact that-that minuscule baby I saw in the NICU has grown up so tremendously. Norah is a survivor, much like you. She survived a shooting and a premature delivery like it was nothing. I am still grateful you allowed me in to get a look at the being in the incubator after Jinx gave you your first taste. Even though that was the moment you told me you were keeping Norah – and that she was newly named – I could tell by the look on your face you had fallen in love already. Watching you take on a set of unplanned responsibilities sticks with me even today.

Once again, I apologize for not being there with you to celebrate, Mary. I never imagined I would miss it, but know I am there in spirit (even if you don't believe in such things.) Abigail sends many happy returns, and I am headed to the post office tomorrow to mail my gift for the birthday girl. Don't give me the silent treatment if you gagged on the soppiness of this message. Give it to me straight, inspector.

- Marshall

XXX

**A/N: This is one where I wish Mary's response was in the same chapter, because Marshall's e-mail here and Mary's in the next kind of go together. Oh well – guess you'll have to wait! ;)**


	11. Mama

**A/N: XOXO to you!**

XXX

August 8th

Marshall,

I really have no idea what to say. There are about a million acidic comments swirling in my brain after that spectacular puddle of schmaltz, which is saying something considering it's after midnight and I'm exhausted. But, if you promise me in your next e-mail that we don't have to go through this weepy song-and-dance again anytime soon, then I suppose I can take you a little bit seriously. Just make sure it doesn't get back to anyone, okay?

If I can be honest for a second (and hey, when am I ever _dishonest_?) I'd tell you that I do wish you could've been here today. The party that Jinx and Joanna planned felt really bizarre. Nobody knows what actually went down on August 7th like you and I do (well, except for Abigail and Stan.) But, nobody in my house does, and they don't seem to get why I am slightly more sour than usual on Norah's birthday. Jinx chalked it up to some sort of cheesy reminiscence, like I was breaking down or coming apart because Norah is 'growing up so fast.' Unlike most, I really don't feel that way at all. It feels like it's been a year – maybe even longer. So much has happened, but so much _hasn't_ happened too. Brandi's practically right where we left her this time last year; you'd never guess she partied hard and did a one-eighty throughout. Except for the kid, she's in the same place she's always been; caught in limbo between reaching the mountain or falling into the ravine below.

And then there's the issue of Brandi all together. She tried to hide it, and I suppose I should be grateful she at least made the effort, but she was awfully weepy throughout the entire day. I know her ridiculous hormones aren't helping, but she's all washed up because today would've been her and Peter's anniversary. I'm at a loss for what to tell her. It's her own fault they aren't married and she's having some random's baby. But, you can bet that is of no assistance whatsoever and I just wanted her to chill out, so I tried to remind her about all the good that could be ahead. I wish I believed that; I wish I had faith that she'll actually clean it up this time, but I don't. Not really. She's 'tried' on so many different occasions and she always comes up short. I can't even decide if she misses Peter, or if she just misses the idea of being tied down and having a plan about where you're going with the rest of your life.

The best part of today, aside from Norah herself, was probably Mark. Other than you, he's the only one I've told that Kenny and I hit the skids. He figured it out on his own because originally, Kenny and Oliver were supposed to come to the party. Jinx and Brandi managed to neglect noticing, but not Mark. He was actually very sweet and took all these great pictures of Norah demolishing these cupcakes we got at the bakery downtown. Even though he doesn't know all the details of a year ago – like the shooting, for example – he did seem to remember that I showed up at the wedding covered in dirt. He hasn't been nosing around, but he at least gets there's something more to today than just Norah being born. He was so silly during the party, and it was really embarrassing, but it made Norah laugh and I don't ever get tired of seeing that. Sometimes, I feel badly I never gave Mark a chance with her, but most of the time I'm just glad he's here no matter what I thought back then. He does love her, and his physical presence is enough to get me through most days. Physically does count for something.

I should probably get to bed, but I didn't want to leave you hanging after your bared your soul (that was supposed to be my well-honed sarcasm sneaking through.) You really didn't have to get Norah a gift; honestly, Jinx and Joanna maxed out on toys and I haven't a clue where the hell I'm going to put them all. I'll wait for it anyway in hopes that it might be something _I_ can use, rather than my child. There are only so many years of youth you can get away with that.

I have better memories of August 7th, Marshall – more than I let on, but it's late, I'm tired, and trying to be nice has really taken it out of me. The clearest though, is the moment you ran to me the minute I needed your help. In those five seconds it was just the two of us before the crowd started closing in; I actually thought things might be okay. Turns out they were. But hey, I should be used to the fact that you're always right, now shouldn't I?

- Mama Mary

X

August 11th

Dear Mary,

Wish granted. A promise is a promise. Dewy-eyed facets are currently being boxed up and put away. I will end with letting you know I thoroughly enjoyed your latest message. But that is all.

It has come to my attention that I have not given you an update on Maria in about two weeks. Around the first of August, we were able to get her into a secure location in the United States. Of course, I shouldn't publicize where that is, but I think her and her mother will be quite content with their new quarters. It is going to take some adjusting, as you well know, and she's not set to testify for awhile yet, but it will give them some time to get settled. I admit I was a little bit sorry to see her go. Although we could not converse much with my woefully inept Spanish (I do manage here and there, but she chuckled at my subject-verb agreements,) I felt I got to know her quite well. The fact that she has been able to rise above the chaos that reigns around her is admirable, and so early in life. It was my belief that her mother was nervous about leaving the country and the only life she has known, but the opportunities will eventually flourish for both. In any case, I will miss the gorgeous way with which she addressed me. 'Marshall' with that expertly rolled 'r' right in the middle was music to my ears.

I thought I'd concentrate on things with Brandi as well (this does not qualify as vapid gushing; it simply tackles a current issue at hand.) I know it's hard, Mary. I know you feel as though Brandi has let you down many times, and even put you in danger when she has been naive enough to place her trust into certain people. But, you know how impressionable she is, and you know that she _wants_ to improve her behavior. I don't think there's ever been a time in her life where she _hasn't_ wished that for herself. But, she is not as self-assured as you are; she's wired differently. While it may seem pointless, I think its imperative you keep up with her. If you can show her she can be independent, be responsible, and even be a mother; she will start to believe it too. She does adore you, no matter what way the cookie crumbles. Also, you know how taxing and worrisome it is when you become a first-time mother. I am sure she's grateful to have you around to assist in showing her the ropes.

The weather here is getting quite unbearable, I might add. I imagine it is rather dry and dusty in Albuquerque as well, but this is a heat I have yet to experience. I do know that in other parts of Mexico, it can get very chilly, and even stay as such all year 'round. Unfortunately, Abigail and I are not stationed in such an expanse and will have to sweat it out. Speaking of which, I ought to be on my way. We finally had a free night, and Abigail and I both decided it was time to ask Cliff to have a meal with us. I am hoping it will be a reasonably enlightening experience.

- Marshall

XXX

**A/N: So, I made Mary not snarky on this one! Hope that fits her character!**


	12. Not The Coach

**A/N: This story doesn't totally blow, does it? I don't want to go begging for reviews or anything – but I don't want my tale to be awful either! ;)**

XXX

August 14th

Marrrrrrshall…

(Like my rolled 'r' doofus?)

Good news about Maria. What lost spirit will you be nursing back to health next? You mentioned in one of your previous messages that while you were busy with Maria, you didn't have as much time with Abigail. This begs the question, old partner of mine. I am not dim enough to believe that since you both took off for Mexico, one with a police division and one with the Marshal Service, that she doesn't know you're a WITSEC inspector by now. We'll brush over how shameful this is, since I _know_ you're thinking about me and Raph, and get down to the nitty-gritty. Exactly how much does Abigail know? It doesn't sound like she gets to sit in with potential witnesses. Does she go out and bag the offenders and then hand them over to you? Why can't I picture such a set-up? You two are one remarkable pair. (And when I say 'remarkable,' don't automatically assume I mean it in a positive sense.)

I am not even going to dignify your convictions about Brandi with a response, and just give you the run-down about what she's up against these days. I had to drive her to her doctor's appointment yesterday, and so we ended up having to listen to what's ahead. As I am sure you remember for whatever ludicrous reason, she's due September 4th, which makes her thirty-seven weeks today. Brandi was excited, because the doctor told her she can go into labor anytime and have the baby be viable. I guess she's considered 'full term' at this point even though she isn't forty weeks. Like I said, Brandi was over-the-moon, but I'm not. It was only last week I got her and Jinx out to do some shopping. They found a bassinet and a few other things, but something tells me Brandi plans on using Norah's stuff, which is _not_ going to happen. The both of them act like Norah doesn't need it anymore, which is stupid. I also have every suspicion Jinx will practically move in when the baby does get here. As if I don't have enough on my plate already.

But, this is not even the worst of it. Brandi's OBGYN started haranguing her about going to Lamaze classes, since she apparently knows nothing about giving birth, and finding a labor coach. I thought sure she'd ask Jinx. I was _positive_ she would ask Jinx. They're like the Bobbsey twins; never see one without the other. Jinx is the obvious choice. She should've picked Jinx.

She didn't. She asked me.

Marshall, I _really and truly_ wanted to tell her no. Actually what I wanted to tell her was, 'Hell no; you'd have a better chance with a stranger off the street' but I didn't. I haven't told her anything yet, but it's not like I can dance around it forever if Brandi's going into labor anytime in the near future. All I know is, I've experienced three births in my lifetime; my own, good old Leonard Libinowitz, and Norah. I can't remember the first, I thought I was going to barf on the second, and Norah's scared the shit out of me. This is work I am not cut out for. You need to tell me the best way to ward off Brandi so she doesn't start bawling. Because, I can't. I can't and I won't.

Anyway. How was that meal with Cliff? You all have a rousing good time? You best be on his good side now, or the next three months are gonna continue to be torture.

- [Not-The] Coach, Mary

P.S. Norah's birthday present came today. Who made the weaving? (I hope to God it wasn't you.) The yellow and pink threads are actually really pretty together, and you know I am usually against anything involving pink. It's neat the way the bright letters stand out against the back pattern, and that frame you mounted it in must've cost a fortune. But, what does, 'Belleza Sin Limites' mean?

X

August 18th

Dear Mary,

Oh my God. I am strictly stunned. Have we truly stumbled upon an action that terrifies you? The emergence of a human being? In some ways, I do not know why this comes as a shock to me. Your general dislike of the public would indicate that seeing another among its species be born is a fate worse than death. (Ah, the irony.) But, I would like to discuss this as the adults we are before you break Brandi's heart with your sound and possibly unreasonable 'no.'

Your labor with Norah went unnaturally fast. I know that you do not have a lot of recollections of how you coped to make it to the finish line. Not to mention, you did not spare the energy looking anything up before the fact. Allow me to school you, just in case you decide to bite the bullet and become the coach without the whistle.

There are three stages of labor. The first stage is divided into three additional phases – the latent phase, the active phase, and the transition phase. The latent phase is nothing you need to concern yourself with right away (and is likely what you were in most of the day on August 7th last year.) It typically takes hours – up to eight, perhaps longer – for first-time-mothers before they progress to the next stage. The contractions would probably be five to ten minutes apart, and it's likely you could still talk through them (or Brandi could, anyway.)

The active phase is where things begin to pick up (hence the title.) The contractions will fluctuate and be about two-to-three minutes apart, and last anywhere from forty to sixty seconds. When Brandi reaches this point, it's time for you to get her to the hospital unless something out-of-the-ordinary has occurred before then. I stress this because it was the phase you expertly ignored while we were stuck in a building that was on lock down. How, I am not sure, because most women can't even talk through the force of the contractions. Yet somehow, you managed.

The transition phrase is without question the most intense. The contractions are very close together and may even be one on top of the other; they also last for the longest duration of time, around sixty to ninety seconds. If you take on this challenge with Brandi, it is important to note that this is where she may come undone (and any woman would, so do not think that's specific to Brandi.) The body works extremely hard to get to the next stage of labor and it can cause a multitude of reactions – vomiting, shivering, and the like. Fortunately, it doesn't last very long in comparison to the other stages; up to an hour, max. Expect anything and everything is all I can say about it, and I mean that quite literally.

The second stage of labor is the pushing stage (something tells me you remember this part.) I do not think I need to go into too much detail here, as the expression pretty much speaks for itself. But, know that pushing can often take a lot longer than predicted. Norah slid right out, but she was also premature and undersized. There's no telling how much time it might take for Brandi, but there you have it. The third stage is the delivery of the placenta, but it is probably best I stop before I make you overly squeamish.

Whether or not my influx of information is something you appreciate remains to be seen. But, where I am going with all this is that birth is an amazing, if not entirely comfortable process. Brandi needs somebody with her, and I wouldn't fault you for thinking you're unable to handle it. You know yourself best, Mary. But, there is something to be said for Brandi coming to you instead of Jinx. She can trust and rely on you, which is not to say she couldn't do the same with Jinx. Even so, she knows you're tough and you'll get her through somehow, someway. Don't doubt yourself too much, whatever you decide to do.

Enough of all that – but I'm attaching some information on breathing techniques as well, if you want some light reading to engage in (supposed to be a joke.) The dinner with Cliff, since you asked, went well enough. He and Abigail did a lot of friendly chatting; turns out he used to be acting chief near her detective division when she lived in Texas. We haven't had a lot of free time to swap stories, but it seems they know some of the same people, which I think made Abigail feel a little more at home. She's been a champ with how many times she's moved in the last few years. She loved her life in Texas, but was just adjusting to two years in Albuquerque before we took this on and packed up again. I'm glad she has someone who can help to put her at ease when I'm not around.

Listen Mary, just…what I said about Brandi. Yeah?

- Marshall

P.S. 'Belleza Sin Limites' means 'Boundless Beauty.'

XXX

**A/N: Forgive my Spanish – I have had none, and I used Google Translate, which I know is not the most reliable of sources. Take pity on me, if you would.**


	13. Lamaze Bound

**A/N: Hugs!**

XXX

August 21st

Ew, Marshall. Just, ew.

You will never put any of that vile jargon in a message to me ever again. Do you understand? I want your answer in writing that you are not going to make me _this_ ill just because _you're_ dying to be present for the birth of some ankle-biter. You make it sound like popping kids just _happens_; like if you were to sit around waiting for the egg to fall it would do it all on its own. The whole process is way messier, way more gruesome, and infinitely grosser than you present it to be. And, you can't expect me to understand that file of breathing techniques you stuck on the back end. Its gibberish, nimrod, and it'll never work. Did it work with me? I trust you remember the answer to _that_.

But, if you must know; I am not any closer to warding Brandi off this idea than I was a week ago. She signed up for Lamaze and I told her I wouldn't go, but she won't listen. Her first class is tomorrow night, and what am I supposed to do if I get called into work? For that matter, what if I get called into work, or say I'm _at_ work, when she actually goes into labor? This is why I am not the candidate for this position. I have too much else going on. I tried to tell her the same damn thing when she was gonna get married and she wanted me to be her maid of honor, and she ignored me then too. And what happened? I got trapped with you and the rest of the cops in the courthouse and had a baby of my own. It's true what I said: the only time people shoot at me is because of Brandi. Or, in any case, the only time I end up in a knot is because of Brandi.

Give me something else to talk about. Honestly. Surely now that Maria's gone you have a new charge. You wouldn't have gone all the way down there for six months if you didn't have them waiting at the gate. If not, you should come back here because I've got about six waiting in the wings. Hanson saddled me with this skeeze of a money-launderer, and I spent most of the day wanting to give him a swift kick under the table. Stan totally would've allowed it, or at least been none the wiser, but Hanson breathes down my neck twenty-four-seven and it's suffocating me. Delia's still working on buttering him up, but it's been three months and he won't budge.

The other day, Jinx and I took Norah out and I let her try some ice cream. I didn't think it was such a good idea, because it's really cold and I was worried it might hurt her already sensitive teeth. But, Jinx said she'd love it and so I got a strawberry cone and gave her a taste. It was funny at first, because Norah kept poking her tongue in and out like a lizard, but once she got the hang of it she thought it was pretty good. Of course then she smeared it all over her face and clothes and I had to change her for the umpteenth time, but what else is new? Her little adventure must've worn her out though, because she fell asleep in my lap at 7:30 while I was finishing up paperwork. When I put her in her crib, Oscar moved from in front of the TV to the alcove and sat there like he thought she was going to rock herself right out and onto the floor.

Good news about Cliff I guess. Talk soon – my best to Abigail.

- Lamaze-Bound Mary

X

August 25th

Dear Mary,

For such an intelligent woman, you are remarkably inept when it comes to pregnancy. And yet, I find this very hard to believe. For all your resistance, I refuse to concede you have absorbed as little as you claim. Just to be certain in the event this is _not_ the case, I feel it is prudent to let you in on a little secret. Childbirth, barring any complications, _would_ 'just happen.' It _has_ just happened. Surely you've heard of home births. This is not to say that one should resort to medieval methods when having a baby, but a woman's body will do the work if there are no obstacles in the way. I would think this obvious, but there is a reason they call it 'natural.' And, as you can see from the way I opened this note, I have no intentions of putting anything in writing anytime soon. If you're allowed to spew your venom at me on a daily basis, I am allowed to educate you as much as I see fit. All that mockery you threw for eight years isn't paying off now, is it?

All you would have to do in regards to Hanson is talk to him. One's sister having a baby is a perfectly valid reason to have the night off. He can rely on himself as well as Delia, and I know she won't have a problem with covering you. I know this can sometimes be a foreign concept to you Mary, but asking for help isn't the worst thing in the world. Despite Hanson's supposed inflexibility, I can't envision him disallowing something like this. Delia, in particular, has always been on the roster to jump at the sound of the alarm. And, you should face it; anything involving babies will have her out of her seat before you can blink.

Maria has indeed sailed off into the proverbial sunset, but I haven't had any more witnesses as permanent as she was. They trickle in here and there, but I've spent a little more time finalizing the paperwork than I have getting their life stories. The issues down here that are rampant all bleed together on occasion, and so I am mostly trying to keep one case separate from another. Day before yesterday, I was out helping Abigail with a couple situations where backup was needed. Not that she needs backup, mind you, but I like to be there in the more dangerous of circumstances – just as I liked to be by your side when we were partners. Have you ever stopped to think about how strange that sounds on occasion? 'Were' partners indicates past tense. Honestly, I only had a couple weeks of the chief position before I made the decision to give it up in order to finagle what is going on down here. I never had any time to get used to it, so I definitely still think of us as partners. That is something I will have to get used to when I come back, not to mention trying to keep you and Delia in line when Hanson returns to Colorado. (Well, more you than Delia, obviously.)

The phrase 'chief' reminds me of Stan, who I heard from in a short e-mail yesterday. He tells me he is really getting his feet wet in D.C., but life promises to come up roses mid-September because Lia has indeed made arrangements to join him. She found a studio that needs a co-teacher and managed to snag herself the position in a phone interview, of which Stan was quite proud. I am glad they will be together, as even though I know Stan can handle himself; I hate to think of him in a new city alone. Lia thrills him to the limit, although I was instructed to indicate if I spoke to you that there are no plans to go 'official.' Stan was very firm on that.

Judging by the signature on your last message, it would seem Brandi's dragging you to Lamaze has gone into effect. How might that be going, inspector? No holding back, now.

- Marshall

XXX

**A/N: Still fluff, or you see some plot development? LOL!**


	14. Itchy Trigger Finger

**A/N: Well, I'm glad that one of you sees some plot developing LOL! But, I wouldn't blame you if you didn't!**

XXX

September 1st

Marshall, beware:

I'm pissed. Pissed _and_ about to fall asleep sitting up. I am not pissed at you, although I'd watch your step because I could revert at the drop of a hat. I'd say I pity anyone who tries to come near me today, but I might actually welcome it. I am dying to let out some of this frustration on somebody other than Brandi, and it is becoming a more unlikely possibility with each passing minute.

At about two o'clock this morning, Brandi comes barreling into my bedroom way too fast for someone about thirty pounds overweight. She was blubbering all over the place telling me she needed to go to the hospital. Now, I was still half asleep so I didn't know what the hell she was jabbering about. I thought I was dreaming for the first five minutes. But, then she starts shaking me and I come to a bit better and she's _still_ hollering she needs to go to the hospital. Well, by this time of course, she's woken Norah up (all the way out in the living room!) I was ready to smack her just for that, but I could barely get a word in edgewise. All Brandi can say is that she's in labor and to take her to the hospital.

I didn't know what to do. I could barely get my head wrapped around the idea that it was time already, but I couldn't think of what you'd told me about the contractions and the timing, and God knows I couldn't rely on my own experience. All that was getting into my head was that we'd only been to two Lamaze classes, and I was pretty sure those pointless breathing exercises weren't going to get us anywhere. Brandi acted like she was having a heart attack; it was all I could do to get her calmed down enough to tell me what was going on. I tried to convince her to wait it out, to make sure, but she was hell bent on going. I don't know what scared her so badly, but there was no shutting her up. That meant I had to call Mark to come stay with Norah, who was having a fit of her own with all the activity. The only bright spot in all this was that Mark showed up in about two seconds, so we didn't waste any time. Seems he's been paying attention to our little run-down about 'what to do when the baby comes.' But I swear, I felt like a bumbling husband what with taking care of Norah and attempting to get Brandi in the car before she passed out.

I had to sit at the hospital for _two hours_ with Brandi, and it was not a pleasant experience. The crux of it came from the fact that, considering what a mess Brandi was, I knew she couldn't be feeling much of anything. She was too focused on freaking out to be in pain, and little by little she came back to earth. She was in for a rude awakening when she did, because the doctor that finally came in to look at her at 4:30 said just what I suspected.

False labor. _False labor_. Seriously, Marshall? With all of your supposedly useful information, you never decided to mention the 'real thing' might not be the real thing! The doctor on call said it was Braxton Hicks contractions and to come back if they transitioned into five minutes apart. I could tell by the look on her face that wasn't going to be happening anytime soon; that the whole thing was some cruel hoax put on by this kid, not to mention Brandi. Needless to say, I ripped into my sister on the way home, who could've apologized a hundred times and I could've cared less. It's not so much the fact that she was incorrect that bothers me; it's the meltdown. How is she going to fare when the baby is actually coming? I cannot fathom, and I don't want to. She is definitely pushing my buttons with this whole 'coach' business.

It's almost noon, and I am so exhausted I could fall asleep at my desk. By the time Squish and I got back to the house, I had to take Norah so Mark could go to work. Joanna didn't come until eight, but I was already dead walking out of the elevator at the Sunshine Building. Brandi better let me sleep tonight, or she can kiss Lamaze goodbye.

- Itchy-Trigger-Finger Mary

X

September 3rd

Dear Mary,

It is my sincere expectation that you have been able to catch up on some rest since your last e-mail. It sounds like it was quite the taxing morning, and that Brandi was a little over-anxious. While this is not uncommon, it would've been more desirable if you had-had a bit more certainty before taking off for the hospital. Perhaps a little practice run will have helped Brandi to shake off her jitters, and she'll be clearer on what to look for when the time presents itself. Two Lamaze classes are not very many, but every little bit helps; two is certainly better than nothing at all. I hope you'll stick with it, because it can be calming for the mother in those stressful moments during labor. The breathing techniques also aide in providing oxygen for the baby as he or she moves down the birth canal.

Well, there is little to report on my end, other than the fact that Cliff and I got into something of a tiff yesterday (that wasn't supposed to rhyme, but there you have it.) I was disheartened, as we have been getting along much better than we were back in June, but something disturbed the calm. I had a probable, and by all accounts reliable, witness who was willing to flip on some former cronies who shall remain nameless. This guy's track record has been clean for about three years, and it would appear he has done everything possible to straighten out his life. Cliff did not have the same feeling I did, and wanted to have him testify and be confined to a WITSEC prison facility. This was completely unnecessary, of course. This man's most recent crime has been a traffic ticket, and he has served his time in Mexico. The testimony he is willing to give is valuable, and he puts himself in great danger by doing it (hence the move.) Cliff seems to think intermingling with old cohorts will send him back to his former ways. His suggestions are to either put him in the US prison on work release (I don't even know if we can finagle such a thing,) or deny him access all together. I have been aware from the beginning that Cliff's knowledge of WITSEC is more minimal than mine, but this deal is an unreasonable one. I am attempting to get Abigail as a liaison, but she simply does not want to be caught in the middle.

I hope you are still open to letting Norah try some new treats before the weather gets too chilly. I was delighted to hear about her escapade with the ice cream a few notes back. Mary Shannon – Mother and Risk-Taker.

Good luck to both you and Brandi in the days to come. My hope at this point is that your sister does not become overdue.

- Marshall

XXX

**A/N: Oh, Brandi-Brandi. She wouldn't be Brandi if she weren't a little flighty! **


	15. Aunt Mary

**A/N: Plot or not, at least something happens in this chapter LOL!**

XXX

September 12th

Jesus Marshall,

I am seriously spinning. I don't even know how I can sit still, but I feel like I have to for at least five minutes so I can reclaim some of my sanity. God knows it's all going to get grabbed again at a moment's notice, and there is no telling when I'll have a firm grip on it in the future. First of all, I'm sorry it's been over a week since we last spoke; I hope you weren't worried or anything, especially since you can't call and figure out what's going on. I mean, you're such a brain you probably made a pretty good guess about where I was, but I wanted to get my apologies in while I was feeling generous.

Okay…I'll start at the end and see if I can work my way back here. As I am sure you might have gathered by now, I am an aunt. I should get the big stuff out of the way first. Colin Harper Shannon was born on September 5th at 3:07 in the afternoon. He was seven pounds, twelve ounces, and twenty-one inches long. And loud. He was very-very loud. I hope you appreciate my ability to recall this type of information, but I have been reporting it non-stop – to Jinx, to Joanna, to Mark; to everybody who comes knocking, and there have been more than you might think. But, none of that is interesting and none of it is important in the grand scheme of things. As far as Colin goes; he's a cute little booger and Brandi's in love with him, but you can't always tell (more on that later.) Before you inquire, 'Harper' is Jinx's maiden name. She never went back to it even after daddy ran out on us, but Brandi wanted something 'significant' to go with the first name, which was apparently chosen at random. She claimed she was going to go with 'Colin James Shannon' but I talked her out of it. I couldn't do it. I know he's not my kid, but I still couldn't do it.

Marshall, I don't _know_ how I did it – the rest of it. I know this message is going to be completely incoherent and muddled, but you're going to have to bear with me. It's the first chance I've had to really focus on everything that happened. Before you get your panties in a wad, nothing went wrong – by all accounts, Brandi's labor progressed exactly as it was supposed to. It was so long though, and I worked so hard to keep it together but there were times I wanted to throw in the towel and have Jinx step in. I still can't believe I kept on it, but it was painfully obvious how much Brandi was counting on me. I wish she hadn't put so much stock in me, but I got this twist in my gut every time I thought about leaving her with Jinx when we were the ones who had prepared. I know it sounds crazy, but I didn't want her to think I'd abandoned her, no matter how horrifying the whole thing was.

So, the night of the fourth is when it started. (Brandi's due date, by the way. _Now_ is when she decides to do things on time?) The two of us were at home with Norah, and it was raining – not hard, a light sprinkle, and it was actually nice because it's been so dry. I could tell Brandi didn't feel all that well, but she didn't say anything was wrong, so I didn't ask. I put in a movie for us to watch while I got Norah in bed and finished up some work. I was only in the living room for the second half of the movie, but it was impossible to miss that Brandi was totally uncomfortable; she was squirming all over on the couch and trying to be cool (but kind of failing miserably.) I couldn't figure out why she wasn't saying anything, but I guess it was because she didn't want another false-labor-fiasco. As you well know, I was not kind to her after that episode, and I don't think she wanted to make the same mistake twice. But, about eleven o'clock or so, I had to know what was going on because she was tearing up, so I asked if she was okay. Well, the leeway was all she needed – she said her back really hurt and that she was having cramps across her abdomen. Cramps. Right.

I thought if I jumped straight into action, Brandi would go off the deep end. So, I asked if she was timing the contractions, only I didn't call them contractions; I think I said a 'pattern to the pain' or something so stupid, as if I knew what I was talking about. Squish told me no, which was pretty exasperating so I had to cover that up too. I was really tired, but knew I couldn't just go to bed, so I pretended I had some more work to finish and helped her keep track. At first, it wasn't so bad. She didn't even really need me; the contractions were mild enough she breathed through them really well, but it was _such_ a long night. All I could think about was how I was going to be able to stay awake by the time we had to go to the hospital, which was a huge mistake. It made the hours go so much slower.

The rest is kind of blurred, until the sun started to come up. I'm pretty sure I did fall asleep around four o'clock, but Brandi woke up Norah at five thirty, probably because she couldn't hold it in anymore. Marshall, you _can't_ tell anyone this, but that's when I started to get scared. I'd never heard Brandi scream like that – loudly enough to shake me from sleep – and I wanted so badly for her not to hurt. She seems so much younger than me sometimes; like we're still twelve and six, and it's my job to make sure she's not in danger. I kept trying to remember everything we learned in class, but we didn't even make it to all of them. There were these moments I was ashamed of myself; my memory can hold anything, and in an enormous capacity, yet I couldn't drudge up three breathing techniques to help my sister. Why? Why couldn't I just treat her like a witness and have done with it?

So, long story short; I timed four of Brandi's contractions between five thirty and six, and they were definitely five minutes apart. Once I got Norah dressed, I called up Mark and got him to the house. I am still amazed at how efficient he was, and he was _so_ sweet to Brandi. Was he like that when I was in labor? Because I honestly don't remember. He kept telling her it was okay to cry (I didn't agree; I was worried it would waste her energy,) and that she would do a great job. There was a split second I wanted him to go with her instead of me, but I didn't manage to negotiate before Brandi was waddling out the door toward the car.

I thought I'd feel better once we got to the hospital, or maybe that Brandi would feel better – at least validated that the baby was really coming and she wasn't imagining things. I don't think she did, and I sure as hell didn't. Once they got her checked in, they told us she was four centimeters dilated, and this was at seven in the morning. Since the contractions were five minutes apart, they let her stay and hooked her up to all the machines, which was kind of a nightmare. Brandi kept having contractions while they got her on the heart monitor and tried to stick her with the IV, and I could tell how embarrassed she was that she was crying with all these people in the room. I kept reminding her to breathe, only I knew I wasn't doing it the right way, and looking back I wonder if she could tell I was losing my head and if that's what made it so much harder for her. Marshall, I don't know how you managed with me when Norah showed up. I felt so out-of-control when I was in labor and it was eerie how similar it was with Brandi. It was like I was watching myself go through it all over again.

Fortunately, once we got all the strangers to go away, things calmed down a little. I was able to sit with Brandi and repeat to her in-between contractions what to do when they came on. She did a lot better when I breathed with her, which made me feel _insanely_ stupid, but I wasn't willing to go back to where we'd been before with all the sobbing. I'd take a bit of stupidity over that kind of chaos. Since Brandi was four centimeters, the doctor told her she could have an epidural but – get this – Brandi said _no_. And I _never_ found out why. I don't suppose it's important anymore, but it still baffles me. Part of me thinks she declined just so she wouldn't have to deal with all the people again, but I really don't know. Deep down, I wonder if it's because of me. I didn't have an epidural either, but I was too far along in labor for it to be administered. I don't know why I feel guilty about her declining because of me, if that's even what it was.

I guess it wasn't until about twelve thirty that Brandi hit transition. She threw up twice, and that was when I realized what it was and what you'd told me. And you were right, because she fell completely apart. I don't know what she was feeling or how bad it was, but it was like everything we'd worked for up to that point went out the window. I did everything I could think of – I held her hand and told her to squeeze it as hard as she wanted. I told her she should curse me out or yell at me, which I think I would've preferred to what actually happened. After she puked the second time, she got really upset; I knew that she was humiliated and wanted everyone to get out, but now nobody could because she was almost ten centimeters. She was crying so hard I was worried she wouldn't be able to breathe at all, let alone the way we'd talked about, but I knew better than to tell her to stop. So, I got as close to her as I could and she hung onto me for about forty-five minutes with her head in my chest.

I wanted to leave. I wanted so badly to leave, and in those moments where she was hugging me I kept trying to figure out the best way to tell Brandi I was through. I never came up with anything, and when she finally came out the other side she had totally drenched my shirt with all her tears. Then, of course, I had no chance to make any kind of decision because we'd made it – at least in some sense. Brandi's contractions started spacing out for about fifteen minutes, and then the OBGYN got herself all geared up and told her it was time to push. It took her two hours, which is _not_ what I thought you meant when you said it could take longer than anticipated, Marshall. But, they kept telling Brandi he was descending slowly and that she was doing fine, just to keep going.

I didn't know how _I_ was going to keep going. Brandi was practically purple and so exhausted she was falling asleep between pushes. Eventually, they let her roll onto her side so she could push that way, and it worked. For twenty minutes, I sat in front of her on the stool, held her hand (and nearly severed all five fingers, I'll have you know,) and told her she could it. I must've said it a hundred times, and I don't even know if I believed it; I spewed all sorts of crap I didn't buy into – she was doing great, she was awesome, she was almost done, to hang on. I seriously had this thought about a minute before he came bawling into existence that he was never coming; he'd stay suspended in limbo forever.

But then there he was – one minute inside, the next screaming to beat the band, red-faced and flailing all over the place. I could tell the second Brandi got him out, because she went completely limp and started crying all over again. I don't know that she could even see him right away because she was on her side, but I'm not sure she cared. They brought him to her pretty quickly, in just enough time for me to turn her onto her back so she could hold him. Marshall, I don't think there's ever been an instance in my entire life where I thought Brandi looked as grown up as she did with Colin in her arms. It hasn't lasted, and it left as quickly as it flashed in, but I'll never forget it. I'd never seen such joy on her face; for as many times as Brandi has rocked out, partied hard, or been on a high, none of it compared to how she looked the minute she met her son.

I got out fast, I can promise you that. This decent nurse, who was actually kind of a help to Brandi, told me I could step out and I didn't waste any time. I made something up; told Brandi I would fetch Jinx. The nurse in question – I think her name was Amy – actually told _me_ I'd done a good job, which I thought was weird. But, she also said I should go home, and that Brandi would be okay for a little while because she was sure to conk out the second they let her. And hey, I didn't need to be told twice. I held my own in front of Jinx, who about exploded when I gave her the news, but then unraveled when I got home. It was pouring down rain when I left the hospital so the drive took forever; Mark had left for work when I arrived at the house, and so Joanna was with Norah. I felt terrible because I started blubbering once I got Norah in my arms, but Joanna took it in stride. She promised to keep it between us. I don't know what my problem was, but the release just came without warning. I was all shaky and shivery and Joanna got Norah down for her nap so I could go to sleep. I'm still working out how to thank her.

Suffice it to say, it's pretty much been a whirlwind since Colin showed up. Brandi really is crazy about him, but she's also totally overwhelmed and _extremely_ weepy. I'm trying to be tolerant, but my patience is thinning. The house is like a circus with two infants, Oscar, and a bawling Brandi. Honestly, work is pretty much a safe haven at this point, even with eternally perky Delia. I have no idea if you had the time to read all this Marshall, but I didn't want you to think I'd forgotten you. I can't imagine how far you've come since our last e-mail, but this will give you something to chew on for quite awhile.

- Aunt Mary

X

September 14th

Dear Mary,

I feel it is vital I dispense with the preamble. I am so very-_very_ proud of you. I know that 'birthing babies' is not really your thing; I know how uncomfortable such situations make you, but you sucked it up and ran the long-distance no matter how you felt. I sincerely hope Brandi has thanked you for the role you played in getting young Colin on our planet, because it sounds like she was lucky to have you by her side. Labor is named as such for a reason – it's some of the most brutal, most intense work ever been done, and even the best of us couldn't go through it alone. Whatever doubts or misgivings you had during the stretch endured is unimportant. You never acted on them; you never left Brandi helpless and frightened by herself. You didn't get angry with her (by all accounts.) You didn't give up. You have no reason to feel ashamed because you weren't sure what to do at times. Subsequently, there's nothing wrong with having been scared (although I will keep that in the vault as requested,) but it brings me to my next point.

You could not treat Brandi like a witness because that's not what she is. She is not some floozy or haphazard random off the street; she's not another case file in the stack on your desk. Her somewhat sporadic inability to keep her head in select moments may remind you of those new to our program, but it doesn't change the facts. Brandi is your sister, and no matter how much grief she gives you, that's what she will always be. You actually said it best yourself when you admitted it's hard to see the two of you as anything other than twelve and six year olds. She'll forever be younger than you are, forever in your shadow, forever a little girl that tagged after you and depended on you when James flew the coop. She may eventually grow out of those traits – at least, I am anticipating prospects – but, nothing changes that they were there in the first place. You're blood, Mary. The effect that can have on us is very great, which is likely where all of your emotion came from when Colin made his appearance. I trust you don't forget he is in your blood now as well.

I suppose it is my duty to give you something trivial to focus on in the tumultuous tsunami in which you live these days. Cliff and I are still on thin ice, which is most unfortunate. I know it's been awhile since we last exchanged information, but the man he wanted to see in a WITSEC prison is still with us in Mexico. I am getting quite anxious for him to testify and be sent on his way so Cliff and I can at least clear the air, but he's undoubtedly holding things up. I am not afraid to admit I am starting to get nervous, because this guy was a little reluctant from the onset. He is exceptionally clean-cut now and ready to do his part, but I am worried he's going to bolt at the drop of a hat if we keep him too long. He can find ways to stay safe here without giving up his information, although the alternative would certainly be preferable. If I were him though, I'd be getting restless for things to be taken care of. I fret that he will determine the risk too great and flee before given the chance to stand up and have his voice be heard. In any case, no one likes being accused or having their past drudged up when they are attempting to move on.

It is most inopportune that, due to the 'War with Cliff,' Abigail and I have hit a bit of a rough patch. We are not arguing, but I can determine she is getting a bit fed up with our brawling and wishes for it to end. She's in a tough spot, being that Cliff is her boss too, and I wouldn't want her to lose her job or sacrifice her credibility just for me. Still though, it's been a trifle tense around here, and I'll feel much better when this particular case is signed, sealed, and delivered.

Get back to me when you can, Mary; I know things are hectic right now. I encourage you to breathe once in awhile, to take a step back, to let others lend a hand if they are so willing. Norah can stay with Mark or Joanna if need be; Delia can take some of your heavier files; Hanson can cut you some slack. You aren't going to get through the next few months with Brandi and Colin if you don't learn how to let the circle close in. Even some things are simply too much for one person; it's not an insult, it's a fact of life.

Tell Brandi I extend my hearty congratulations.

- Marshall

XXX

**A/N: Colin arrives! Hope he sounds cute! ;)**


	16. Think I'm Still

**A/N: Something tells me you're seeing something develop with Cliff! Hooray LOL!**

XXX

September 18th

My optimistic, slushy pool of sap,

What are you, moonstruck? (Nice one, Cher.) I know you become a simpering fool over babies, but really, all that gushing was highly unnecessary. I hope Abigail didn't see you weeping over your keyboard, because God only knows what she might think. Then again, it might endear her to you, and you can put whatever differences you have on the backburner. I admit, I'm still surprised Abigail knows how to be angry. I can't even picture it; I'm stuck on that beaming, thousand-watt smile and the way she fawns over you. It's really pretty sick, but something tells me I need to be hoping she reverts back to her old ways for your sake. I know you're not a fan of 'discord in the workplace' as our old buddy Deputy Everhardt used to say. If you hate the strain in the office, you must really hate it in the bedroom.

(Just grossed myself out.)

Don't mistake my usual snark for my usual snark, Marshall. Things are still completely off-the-wall here. Colin is only two weeks old, but he's got a set of lungs on him that rival even Norah's. If he gets colic, I may shoot myself because 'Colin has colic' is a phrase I don't relish saying three times fast. And, when the kid isn't crying or puking or pooping he's actually adorable; it is kind of a shame we don't see that side of him more often. His eyes are still a little bit dark, but Jinx seems to think they're going blue like Brandi's; they do have that tint to them. The weird thing is his hair. He doesn't have very much, but it's growing in these frail patches in the oddest places, and it looks _red_. Try as I might, I cannot think of anybody in my family (not that the list was long,) who had red hair. This means its likely Brandi's bedmate was a ginger, but she's still close-mouthed about that whole thing.

Brandi, believe it or not, is actually where most of this disorder in the house is coming from. It's not like Norah and Colin can help it when they start going to pieces, but Brandi is another issue all together. I know two weeks isn't very long, but she is still in over her head, and it's making her snivel at the drop of a hat. Annoying doesn't begin to describe it, and I can only hold my tongue for so long. But, Squish is spending so much time bemoaning everything she's doing wrong (or she _thinks_ she's doing wrong,) she's not learning how to do it right. Jinx keeps stepping in to help every time Colin makes the slightest peep, and how the hell is Brandi going to get with the program that way? Jinx also seems to think Brandi's helter-skelter hormones are a sign post-partum depression is settling in, which is _ridiculous_. Fortunately, Joanna brought some good judgment to the table and informed us post-partum depression can't be indentified until months after the baby is born and chalked up Brandi's issues as, 'the baby blues.' Works for me, but she better snap out of it soon.

I actually feel badly I have so much going on between my nephew and work, because I've been neglecting Norah. It seems like I've just been going through the motions where she's concerned, which I hate – the motions don't count. Joanna and Mark are both being really accommodating, which I appreciate, but I didn't envision my daughter taking a backseat within the first year of her life. She's everything to me Marshall, and I don't want her childhood being swept under the rug because Brandi can't get herself composed for more than two seconds. I told her we'd 'do this together,' and I meant it, but that's not how it feels right now. It feels so obligatory, and I just wonder if Brandi can tell. I wonder if she thinks I only made such a promise because she showed up right after James died, and I was taking my own turn at being utterly slapdash. (Like my word choice there, doofus?)

You ought to get things worked out with Abigail. Take her to a nice dinner, sans Cliff. I hear most chicks dig that sort of thing. Buy her some roses (or go pick a bunch from somebody's yard,) say you're sorry even if you don't mean it, and move on.

- I Think I'm Still Mary

X

September 21st

Dear Mary,

Regrettably, the situation with Cliff and consequently Abigail has not improved, and has indeed gotten worse. My fears were confirmed when our latest witness, the one who I was convinced had turned his life around, took wing and skived off his security detail yesterday. We have been unable to locate him, and even in the event that we do, Cliff has had it. He was holding firm on not allowing total access to the program in the United States, but now this guy will be lucky if he escapes without an arrest. Cliff is on the warpath, and has informed me I'm fortunate not to have been placed on the bench.

But Mary, before you evolve seamlessly into 'poke fun of my mishap' mode, I want you to know that I _never_ thought this guy (we'll start calling him Julio,) was a runner. I _still_ don't think that. I told you awhile back that he was hesitant and he was nervous, and if we didn't pick it up he would lose patience. Julio may be on the right track now, but his ex-cohorts are obviously still at large, and he constantly lives in jeopardy from their wrath. He's spent three years managing to avoid them, and something tells me he can continue on that course. I hate to think that he believes that's a better alternative than going through WITSEC, and dealing with someone like Cliff who doesn't deem him innocent. I am aware you have great resistance to change, inspector, and the principle that it is possible, but I had faith in Julio. I really thought we could do some good, which is the entire reason we came down here. It amazes me still, no matter how many times things turn upside-down that they can go as wrongly as they do.

Needless to mention, the blow-up with Cliff and Julio hasn't made things easy with Abigail. She has been supportive, and I appreciate it deeply, but I have had the suspicion all along she didn't place as much stock in Julio as I did. She is also a stickler for following the rules, and since Cliff is in charge; his word may take precedence. Abigail is too kind to say any of these things aloud, of course. I knew, with both of us being in law enforcement, that we would eventually come up against squabbles such as this – it is unrealistic to believe we would agree on every single case. After all, you and I don't. I just didn't think it would happen so soon. I look forward to the day this blows over. I may not feel confident enough to be the chief yet, but I am certainly ready to reclaim my poise as an inspector.

I hope that Brandi is feeling a bit better, but I am certain the days are still going slowly right now. Your mother and Joanna are both right, if this is of any consolation regarding the post-partum depression. 'The baby blues,' are often characterized by a lack of sleep brought on by mood swings, crying spells and – yes – feeling overwhelmed. It typically only lasts a few weeks, and as Colin is only sixteen days on earth at this point, Brandi's hormones are likely still sorting themselves out. Full-blown post-partum depression does last for months, at least it can. Jinx is correct to at least be on the lookout, but you aren't going to know anything until Colin is a little older. I'd sound the alarm if Brandi starts developing extreme feelings of worthlessness (we're talking extreme, Mary,) if she loses her appetite, and still can't sleep even after Colin gets on a schedule.

When you get a second among your bedlam, give Norah a kiss for me. I cannot fathom just how much she must be growing since I saw her last in May. I miss that precious face of hers; always the perfect cure after a sour day.

- Marshall

XXX

**A/N: Sorry for the late update tonight – had something else to attend to! Hope you enjoyed!**


	17. Praying Mantis

**A/N: XOXO**

XXX

September 26th

Marshal Marshall,

Let me see how delicately I can put all this into words. I should start with Cliff. Take him out back and smack some respect into him. Is that delicate enough for you? Because seriously, I had about a thousand other ways I could've said it, and I preferred each and every one to my chosen phrase. But, I figured being uncouth wasn't going to be of any help, at least not where you're concerned. Credit, please.

Marshall, in the unlikely event that you actually _did_ mess up here, it wasn't your fault. You remember when we went gallivanting around that movie set looking for Eddie the Navy Officer; you blamed yourself for that, and Stan sure didn't. He even called in so nobody would blow the bullhorn. If Cliff were a _real_ boss, he wouldn't be letting you take the fall. If he'd listened to you in the first place, Julio would've already been on his way and you could've avoided the scenario all together. He's a douche bag if he doesn't realize that. The only thing I'm pinning on you is taking the heat for losing a witness. Don't let Cliff intimidate you like he is; present your case and don't back down. Pretend you're me. Do it like I would. Your self-image would just _soar_, Poindexter. You know I'm right. You _know_ I'm right.

But, you should also know that the relationship train doesn't stop at my door, so Abigail's kind of a lost cause from where I'm sitting. I don't know what to tell you. I probably shouldn't speculate about this Marshall, because I'm not there, but I really hope she's on your side on this. I guess I get being torn, but you're her husband. Is she going to bat for you? I can't foresee a parallel universe in which she wouldn't, so put my mind at ease and tell me she's Team Mann. In the meantime, suck up like you've never brown-nosed before, and Abigail will kiss your feet for the rest of eternity. Trust me on that.

In other news, are you sure the two of us aren't on opposite sides of the equator? Because, for a pair that are normally so in-sync, I would say we're so far from ordinary right now – I'm at the North Pole, and you're at the South Pole. I had the night off yesterday, and it was probably the best night I've had in _ages_ (at least in the last three weeks.) I decided to let Jinx and Brandi have free reign of the house to deal with Colin, because Mark asked me over to have dinner. I thought it was bizarre; Mark's never asked me to have dinner, because his apartment is like a cave. There's barely room for he and Norah on their days together. But, getting out of the house was a total win-win, so I said okay.

Turns out, Mark wasn't even the one cooking. He'd asked Joanna to whip something up for the three of us and Norah. I don't know what it was; some sort of chicken with sauce, rice, and mixed vegetables, but it was good. I swear, it tasted even better because I didn't have to make it. Mark let me drink practically half a bottle of wine and fed Norah while I sat there chugging back. It was _amazing_ to just do nothing though, and I was pretty sure both Mark and Joanna knew how much I needed the time to kick back. They are first on my Christmas list as of right now, and I don't give Christmas gifts. The both of them have been insanely cooperative with me, especially since Norah started walking with baby-proofing both houses.

Did I forget to mention? She made it upright sometime last week; I can't even remember which day. She falls _a lot_, and she's really unsteady; her butt is getting a lot of action and I'm sure it's bruising at this point. Sometimes though, it's pretty hysterical. When she gets toddling around for more than five seconds, she looks drunk and bonks into things (the coffee table, for example,) like she's a bowling pin or a bumper car. The crazy thing is, she just gets back up and goes again. Babies are so weird.

Anyway, Brandi and the kid are doing all right. Brandi's not much different, but Colin's only woke up twice during the night for the past few days, so that's an improvement. I've started calling him 'Tiger' to go with his rusty hair. So, now we've got The Tiger and The Bug. Quite a duo, I tell you.

- Praying Mantis [_My_ Spirit Animal?] Mary

X

September 29th

Dear Mary,

I welcome the less-than-acerbic response. I would concede that statement qualifies as the credit you are shooting to hoard. I do not know if I would say things have gotten better, but it would seem we at least have two feet on the ground once more. Our team managed to track down Julio and deliver him back to headquarters. After a very lengthy, very drawn-out discussion, Cliff and I were able to come to terms with several other Marshals and work out a solution. Julio is off to the southwestern corner of the Americas pending testimony, but has to report to his inspector once a week every day for the first year. In many ways, it is not such a raw deal, but I still feel responsible for nobody putting their cards on the line for this man. He is willing to do what he can; I would think our squad would be receptive rather than disdainful. Fortunately, it is behind us now, even if Cliff still thinks I almost shot the operation to hell. The air promises to be testy in the two months ahead.

Has the weather gotten appreciably cooler in Albuquerque? I know that it often does this time of year, but sometimes stays balmy and warm through most of October. In the region of the south we've been posted, it is still fairly steamy. The evenings are quite pleasant, though; the stars come out, and the sky is this rich, gorgeous blanket of navy reflecting off the dust and dirt of the ground. In the shadows, you can just see the outlines of the mountains, the way they tip against the silhouettes that are the low-hanging clouds. It all makes you feel as though you are trapped, confined inside this giant sphere; like a snow-globe, only with the cactuses instead of the evergreens. I am certain it sounds foolish and imaginary to you, but when the days have gone long – and taxing – it can be comforting to be alone with the earth. In its own way, the terrain and the globe itself are their own entities. They breathe right along with the human race, but only when the stars twinkle, and there aren't so many feet pounding into the craters on the surface.

It pleases me to hear you had a favorable time with Mark and his mother. Contrary to you, I have always enjoyed Mark. He is amusing and has become a very responsible father. I know there are days in your past where he was less mature and less reliable, but hope you will forfeit at this point he's done his part with flying colors. I hesitate to even suggest such a theory, but might he be considered a _friend_ if you related to something so alien? He's well-mannered with you; he enjoys your company. Should I go so far as to say you enjoy his too?

Bravo to Norah on her ability to go mobile, although I cannot grasp just how many ways you have had to make your home a baby-safe environment. Infants put everything in their mouths, so your hyper-sensitivity in protecting Norah has likely jumped to a disturbing new level. Brandi is coping, I trust? How is Oscar dealing with what you might classify as turmoil at the Shannon's?

I should be getting on my way. 'As You Like It' has taken a bit of a backseat with how much work I've had to deal with, but I am anxious to get back to it. By the by, while the praying mantis has it's similarities to your psyche (and I do get the reference, considering Norah has been nicknamed 'Bug,') I tend to believe the Chinese fire dragon is more your style. Far more exotic, inspector.

- Marshall

XXX

**A/N: Ah, an exotic animal. I couldn't resist!**


	18. Soon To Be Free

**A/N: I have not had thoughtful author's notes for this story. I should probably just stop writing them!**

XXX

October 3rd

Hey sheriff,

That is wicked you got your chestnuts out of the fire with Cliff, if a little ungracefully. You know I absolutely hate a good compromise, so I feel your pain on that. But, you didn't mention how Abigail is taking all this. I asked if you two were working it out, but you forgot to tell me. I guess that means things are going okay; I mean, if you two hadn't patched things up, you would blow the whistle my direction, right? I know I get my shots in on Nancy Drew (see, it's a reflex,) but it's not like I want you bickering this soon in your relationship, Marshall. You've only been married five months; save that business for a little down the road. Seriously, you need to build up some stamina before you start huffing and puffing. But, I'm going to assume all this is moot anyway. You'd have said if anything was out-of-whack.

I'm feeling a bit kicky today, my friend; I have to admit. Why, you ask? I don't really care if you're asking, my braniac; I'm gonna tell you anyway. Hell, I'd shout it from the rooftops if I could; only I have to pretend I'm not happy about it. I've been practicing my neutral face all day, but I'm gonna have to let loose soon or it'll freeze that way. (A mother's favorite expression, right?) You're the only person I can whisper to in the dark on this, so you best enjoy it. God knows I will be.

So, last night, Jinx shows up around six o'clock after she closed down the studio. I thought she was popping in (like she _always_ does,) to check on Brandi and Colin; see if Brandi needed training on burping or diapering or something else inconsequential. It was actually kind of a fluke that I was home; I'm not sure Jinx expected me to be. But, she barely says hello to Brandi (Colin was quiet, shock of all shocks, while Brandi fed him.) She marches right over to me and says she needs, 'a minute.' I didn't have a clue where she was headed with it, and I was starting to wig out. I'm thinking DUI, fall-off-the-wagon, back-to-rehab here. She was so Goddamn serious, and I can't figure out why, now that I know what she wanted to talk about. She was much too melodramatic about the whole thing, but then – that's Jinx.

I left Squish and the barnyard (meaning the kids and Oscar – and that sounds like a PBS cartoon,) and dragged mom back to my bedroom with the door shut. She then proceeds to plunk me down on the bed and gives it to me straight. Marshall, you will never believe it. You could never, in a million, billion, trillion years dream my mother had gained this kind of intuition. She's been eaten or possessed by pod people; I swear it. I am still extremely skeptical, but am starting to become giddy over the certainty of the suggestion. Wait. Just wait for it.

Jinx tells me Brandi is feeling very overwhelmed (no shit, Sherlock,) and that I've been a very good sister (I'm not sure she hasn't been knocking back some gin,) but that it would probably be best if Brandi came to live with her 'until further notice.'

Marshall, I could've taken an oath I was having a stroke, or at least an out-of-body experience. I probably sat there gaping at Jinx for at least five minutes. Why I didn't jump at the opportunity straight away remains a mystery, but I was too busy being colored surprise. Now, granted, if you were only paying attention to the e-mails I've sent you, you'd know I was fed-up with having boarders. But, I have been the model sibling – and don't start laughing! Yes, I cover my ears and pray for the dawn's early light when Norah and Colin get going on one of their nightly duets, but I have held my tongue. I have held my tongue for almost an entire month now and low and behold…Jinx _noticed_? It can't be. It's still too good to be true.

There is really nothing else to reveal, but I am so excited I could burst. My house is going to be my own again. Just me and Norah; even the mutt won't seem like such an inconvenience (I mean that in the nicest way possible, of course.) It's not like I don't love Brandi, and Colin's a rugged little stud, but I've been treading water for weeks now. Work is just too demanding for me to have taken on another kid, whether I have to be the one tending to him all the time or not. Jinx told me how grateful she was that I've tried to help Brandi get on her feet (I really should've been recording this conversation,) but that she could step in now. She has her enrollment all squared away for her fall classes, and set up a schedule so she can be home on occasion to look after Colin while Brandi hunts down a job. She said she hoped I wasn't offended, but it was her turn to do what she was 'meant to do' for her daughters. _Offended_? Why in the _hell_ would I be offended? I was overjoyed; Jinx is so strange sometimes.

Tell me you have some news like this waiting on your end, Marshall. Life is too sweet for it not to be spread around right now, and you can bet your ass it is not gonna last. I've been on the ugly side of existence too often to know it goes as quickly as it comes. Best get out that ticker-tape while we can.

- A Soon-To-Be-Free Mary

X

October 6th

Dear Mary,

Well, I hardly think that anything I could contribute would match that unprecedented public display of whimsicality. I don't suppose you could bottle that type of vigor and save it for when I get home, so there is proof such a thing actually came about. You'll forgive me for saying so, but I find the whole attitude a little difficult to conceive. You, with your ever-present cynicism and suspicion about motives and intentions from those around you, cannot be this over-the-moon about _anything_. Regardless of where this newfound reliance has come from, however, I am pleased it made an appearance in any case. Did it occur to you in your over-enthusiastic bubbliness that Jinx might just be growing up? That she has recognized your plight for what it is and upheld her duty as a parent? I do not wish to put a damper on your spirits by making that implication, but it is food for thought. When do the lodgers pack up and go? I take it from your general tone that it is probably quite soon.

Lamentably, I am afraid I must be on to a more somber matter – that is, if you wish to know about Abigail. I am not even sure 'somber' would be the correct terminology, but it some ways it feels right. I regret to inform you that the reason I did not mention her in my last message was not a mix-up, nor did I forget. I withheld because I simply wasn't sure how to address the circumstances from a country away, and especially not sure how Abigail would feel about it. I hope you will bear in mind that I might have undergone some of the same conflictions you did when you balked on telling me about Kenny. Although this is certainly not the same, as Abigail and I are not splitting up by any stretch of the imagination, there are some times it is best to let sleeping dogs lie – let the kinks work themselves out without any external assistance.

I know it is not possible you skated over the meaning of 'external assistance,' Mary. I would love to talk to you about what is going on, but out of respect for Abigail I think it is best that I wait. I know you two get along as well as probable, but she still struggles with the closeness of our relationship. She's been working very hard not to, so I hope this is of some solace to you. I will see if I can give you an abbreviated version of events. Abigail and I have been having a difficult time seeing eye-to-eye on what's going on at work; our styles are not quite the same. This isn't something that ever cropped up when were simply the Marshal and the detective from Albuquerque; we weren't working nearly as closely. It was easy to keep personal and professional separate, and if we disagreed we could often laugh our way through it. I see this as a mere roadblock in our early marriage; it is best to iron it out now, because it is not as though we'll be here in Mexico forever. We are only two months from our return, and back to life as status quo. This could just be a sign that working together isn't a viable option, and I see no problem with that. We took on these positions to aide in a country that needed the letter of the law to straighten a few things out for half the year. We will leave it in one piece; perhaps more in-tact than it was before if we are so lucky. But, it will have taught us something for the future, perhaps. I am choosing to be optimistic about it.

I beg you be kind to Brandi in her final days with you. I am sure she sees that this set-up is best for everyone involved, but she will likely miss seeing so much of you. She loves you, inspector.

- Marshall

XXX

**A/N: I am curious if you all have predictions on what Mary's reaction will be to Marshall's response. Some of you have noticed that I've 'conveniently' had Marshall not respond to certain statements of Mary's. We'll see if she does the same. ;) **


	19. Just Mary

**A/N: Moving on!**

XXX

October 10th

Marshall. What?

That's all I can manage. 'What' seems to be about the best way to describe it, because there are about sixty different sentences in your last e-mail that perplex the hell out of me. I don't even know where I'm supposed to start, because apparently I'm part of the problem.

On what planet did you think it wasn't a good idea to tell me that Abigail is still pissed about us? You want to keep your relationship woes in the closet, you go right ahead, but if there's something going on and it has to do with _me_, I don't see why you can't fess up. You told me, not several weeks ago, that you had-had some sort of a discussion with her – about what 'releasing you' really means, and you said she understood. Were you lying then? Are you lying to me now? If you'd told me all this months ago, you wouldn't be getting prodded like this, doofus, and you wouldn't have an angry bitch waiting in Albuquerque, trying to figure out where she went wrong.

Marshall, you went to _Mexico_. We're not even in the same country anymore. You don't have a phone because you live like a monk these days. I _thought_ you took your little mission's trip to be an active participant of the Good Samaritan's Club like you do, but now I don't know what to think. Was it your idea, or Abigail's? Did she drag you out of my sight because she thinks we're going to hook up the second she looks away? I wish somebody would get it through their head, because I cannot be any clearer. Marshall, even if I _did_ have a thing for you (which I don't!) I would never try to _take_ you away from Abigail. You're not mine to take; you're not my boyfriend or my significant other, and you're never going to be. We've gone around this bend before, or at least I thought we did when we were out on the balcony. You said you loved me; the insinuation was as _friends_, as _partners_. I thought that was what you meant. It's what I meant. Never mind the fact that you _know_ this sort of conversation is on my top ten list of things I hate most in the entire world. Feelings be damned. People wonder _why_ I want nothing to do with the outside world. It wouldn't take a genius to figure it out.

Do we need to stop talking now? I can't see you, I can't hear your voice, and now I can't read your words on my screen? What is going to happen when you two get back if we've been reduced to this? Whatever your differences at work, it would seem the real issue is still me. Either you weren't telling me the truth when you said she was okay with the messaging, or she wasn't being honest with you on how she felt about it. Either way, I am definitely screwed.

Brandi's already gone, you big boob. A bunch of her things are still here, but she's started bunking at Jinx's until she can get the rest of her crap moved out this weekend. The house is blissfully silent, but the quiet is also pretty odd. Oscar and Norah don't even need me anymore. Every time Norah gets up to go for a stroll, Oscar trots on behind her like he's her guard dog. Whenever she falls, he nudges her with his nose so she'll get back up. She's also talking a little bit more. She's already mastered 'Mama' and 'Dada' but Brandi and, especially Jinx, have started her on 'Auntie' and 'Grandma.' She can't get either of those out, but I heard her call Joanna 'Grandma' (or something close to it,) one day when Jinx wasn't around. It would seem Mark has been teaching her a few words of his own.

I'll see you later, Marshall. Or, I won't. Guess I'll have to wait for approval before I know what to do next.

- Mary

X

October 14th

Dear Mary,

Please don't be upset with me. I have a lot of people upset with me right now, between Cliff and Abigail, and I'm sure you're feeling stung because I made a decision not to divulge everything. I wouldn't blame you for feeling slighted, but it seems you have targeted a completely different part of my prior note. I did not think admitting that Abigail is still uncomfortable with us would set you off so severely, but evidently I was wrong. I thought the way I put it was the best way I could tell you. If I am being completely truthful, I'm not entirely sure what Abigail is feeling, and that's not a lie, Mary. Even though I did not want to strip down to nuts and bolts here, I see I am going to have to concede defeat. It is far more complex to be apart from you and try to sort all this out than I would've thought.

Abigail has undergone some changes since you last saw her in May. What is baffling to me is that I am not sure where they have come from. I would think the climate we're in might have caused such an alternation; it can be depressing and dismal if you're not accustomed to seeing such poverty. Homeless children with no clothing can bring about a switch in anyone. And yet, I do not get the impression the heartache we've blundered through is why Abigail is not her usual playful self. She takes the work portion of our lives in stride; she is very professional, going about each case as she sees fit. They don't have an enormous effect on her mindset; no more or less than any other in this type of work.

I sense there is something personal causing our rift, and I _am_ being truthful when I say I don't know whether it's you, or something entirely different. There are days – most days, actually – where she would appear perfectly at ease with the bonds you and I have tied. She'll ask how you are or what Norah's doing; she was delighted to hear Brandi and Colin were faring well when he first arrived. She would not ask me those things if she didn't know you and I were talking, and so I assumed everything was business as usual. But, there are other days where she does not adopt such a carefree demeanor. She becomes evasive or what I would consider overly sensitive about a mix-up on the job. You know that we've had some troubles concerning Cliff, and any quarrel – big or small – seems to irritate her. I have attempted to probe her about this but, as often happens when couples argue; the real issue will become clouded. If you would like the unvarnished precision on this Mary, your name has been dragged into the fray a few times. It is unimportant why, because I am flummoxed to think that someone who can be so cordial toward you one minute can sling insults the next.

But Mary, regardless of what Abigail believes; you and I both know we have been nothing but perfectly chaste, and that is all we will be. You were correct in assuming that my professed love was one of deep, indefinable friendship. I have been extremely careful while we've been here in Mexico; I haven't let our relationship collide with mine and Abigail's. It was a conscious decision, and for the first few months it worked beautifully. Abigail did not feel neglected, and I was still able to keep in touch with you. I thought it would be a wonderful segue of good things to come when we returned home. I do not know what has changed now, but I am determined to figure it out. With the frenzied nature of our positions right now, it's been a little difficult to find the root of the problem, and it has unfortunately made us very edgy. It is not as though we fight all the time or anything so dramatic, but the air is thin when we're on a more affirmative side of the line. I am certain the winds will clear when the moment presents itself; we just have to work at it. That's what a marriage is sometimes – it is work.

Mary, please don't think I don't want to hear from you anymore. You're the only piece of home that I have here, thousands of miles away. I don't know what I would've done if I hadn't known what was going on with Norah, or if you'd let Oscar demolish every inch of your house. I apologize if anything I said was taken offensively, but I'm running several different directions here. I am beaming with glee at knowing Norah is developing her speech at such a fantastic rate. She is an over-achiever, she is. Much like her mother.

- Marshall

XXX

**A/N: Fear not, my few loyal readers! All might still be okay between our dynamic duo – just a bump. ;)**


	20. Cowgirl

**A/N: I am not in the brightest of moods tonight, but maybe this will lighten yours.**

XXX

October 19th

Marshall, come on,

Tell me that you know, in the lowest depths of your soul that I wasn't trying to make you feel worse. I obviously didn't do the best job, but I can't help how I feel, and sometimes I get really tired of hiding it. Everyone thinks I'm so skilled at it; but just because I'm talented at shutting myself in, doesn't mean I like it. I may not be the most humane of the American community, but sharing my more negative thoughts doesn't nullify the fact that I might have some that are less negative – or at least more sentimental. Surely some of that was woven in amongst the blather I emitted not long ago.

What we came to terms with out on the balcony (we need to figure out something else to define it with,) wasn't something I hated. Granted, I didn't _love_ it. I don't _love_ having to play a less vital role in your life; I don't _love_ that there is now always going to be a portion of your life that doesn't include me. But, I'm an adult, Marshall. I know how to take care of myself; thirty-two years at it tends to give you great practice. It's not as though I'm so immature that I wouldn't understand there are times you need to be with Abigail. That mess with my father…the timing sucked; there's no way around that. I know that under normal circumstances, you would want to stay at your own engagement party and leave me for the afterglow. Of course it would've been different if Jinx and Brandi had been here; I realize that, and so do you. I mean, if somewhere down the road Jinx kicks the bucket (just using the parent analogy here,) I wouldn't expect you to just ignore me. I know Abigail wouldn't either. Or, am I wrong? Unless you had something just as important concerning her, you'd be there. You're always there. I pretty much thought that you and Abigail had clarified all that. I really don't want to go around the bend on it another thousand times.

I don't know what's going on with her, but it sounds like you don't either. But Marshall, if it _is_ me – if it's me _at all_, you owe it to the both of us to put all your ducks in a row here. I'm not going to continue being some interloper in your relationship if Abigail doesn't want it that way. Is it that she tried to like me in the beginning and has now discovered she can't? I am not the most likeable person; it's no secret to either one of us. I know I'm supposed to care about that; that people find me difficult and nasty, or else some big bully on the playground. But, I don't care. Being who I am has got me thirty-nine years on earth. I couldn't have survived my father leaving, or Jinx's drinking, or Brandi's disordered lifestyle if not for the way I am. I don't care what everybody thinks of it, and I never have.

But, despite never, ever saying it – I _do_ care about you. I care about what _you_ think, and since you married Abigail, I've made a hell of a lot of effort to care what _she_ thinks too. I may not display it the right way, or articulate all the right things, but that doesn't mean I haven't made the attempt. I was getting myself all geared up for when you guys got back to present the new-and-improved me, at least in this regard. But, if it makes no difference; I'd really like to know it now. I like Abigail, Marshall; I've told you that before. But, I told you from the very beginning what I like about her is that she makes you happy. I don't know how long I can go on liking her if she _doesn't_ make you happy.

I really need to talk about something else now before Norah wakes up from her nap. Mark and I took her to this cheesy-ass pumpkin festival the other day. Parts of it were outrageously lame; you know how all the merriment in one place makes me ill. The hay was a real trip; it made Mark sneeze for half the afternoon, and so we couldn't go on the covered wagon ride (big loss there.) And Norah had no interest in the pumpkins, but they had this petting zoo and she went wild. I guess Oscar's teaching her to be tolerant of the breeds or something, because she certainly didn't get her obsession with four-legged friends from me. But, Mark held her up so she could pet this big old sack of fur they call a horse, and she about blew her top with excitement. I have to admit, that beast _was_ pretty soft, and he at least stayed still while Norah went to town. She kept running her fingers over his nose, just the tips, like if she touched down all the way he might bolt. But, he just huffed while Norah shrieked for about five full minutes. I really couldn't believe she wasn't scared. One of that thing's eyes was as big as Norah's entire head.

Just…keep me in the loop with Abigail. Maybe we're both wrong. Maybe whatever's wrong with her has nothing to do with either one of us. Maybe it's something else, and she'll tell you what it is eventually.

- Cowgirl Mary

X

October 23rd

Dear Mary,

As of now, I would like to put the condition of my and Abigail's marriage in a drawer. Fortunately for all of us, she's been a little lighter as of late, so I am willing to take it for what it is. Perhaps the stress of work was getting to her, and she needed someone to vent to. While I do not need your name dragged into the rather heated debates, that is something that can be brushed upon if it rears its head once more. Even the best of us say things we do not mean if we are under a considerable amount of strain, and as of now I would like to believe that's what Abigail was doing. If things simmer down, maybe she will confide what caused her shift in mood. It is entirely possible she just didn't want to bother me with it.

The literal winds are starting to change here in Mexico now that we are almost through October. It is not quite so balmy, except of course when it rains and then it is extremely humid. But, I haven't had a lot of time to dwell over storm clouds. Cliff is making a big push for us to get as much completed as possible until we come home in December, which is a little over a month away. Many times, I cannot believe we have been down here nearly five months. It is puzzling to think I have actually adjusted, at least in one sense or another. Mine and Abigail's little temporary apartment has become our home – perhaps even more so than the one in Albuquerque. As I told you when we first moved in together, it was a bit strange. Neither one of us felt quite comfortable in the others' living quarters, which is why we ended up at the new house. While I had become fond of the place we shared with Oscar, it will be odd going back when our tenant moves out on the first of the year. But, I also have no doubt we will 'adjust' all over again.

It sounds like Miss Norah is finding her fearless side with the steeds. Did she encounter any other animals on her adventure at the petting zoo? Pigs? Goats? Something tells me you would not approve of her consorting with anything on her level; I trust the horse was behind a fence. Maybe she would enjoy having a pet down the road, considering that Oscar has become so attached to her (or so it sounds.) It is kind of ironic when you think about it, that you have donned her 'Bug' and Colin 'Tiger' when you contemplate your disdain for animals. They can be quite therapeutic, Mary. I cannot tell you how much I have missed Oscar, but know he is in quite capable (if reluctant) hands. I admit I am missing Norah as well, even though we did not get to spend much time together before I left. I still remember schooling her in King Lear though, and would say I hope you are keeping up my example. Yet, I know how doubtful this is.

I have an update on Stan as well, although we did not really get a chance to exchange notes last time due to Brandi's going into labor. Lia is settled in at her new studio, and loving it. Stan is feeling a bit guilty because his deputy position is so challenging, and it leaves little spare time for courtship. I would bet quite a bit that Lia understands, however. She wouldn't have moved cross-country for him if she did not. It is reassuring that there are folk in the world who have found such mutual happiness with one another. Testy or not, I am still so fortunate to have married Abigail, and to have her in my life. Even on the bad days, I can't always comprehend where I might be without her.

I am giving you my best, Mary. Let me know how Brandi and Colin are holding up (I assume that, in spite of her moving out, you still see quite a bit of her.) Any plans for Halloween?

- Marshall

XXX

**A/N: What are friends for?**


	21. Super Mary

**A/N: Hope my US buddies are enjoying their long weekend!**

XXX

October 31st

Tricks or treats doofus?

Definitely tricks, right? Please. When have I ever given out treats _any_ day of the year, let alone on a holiday as pointless as Halloween? I swear, we go back and forth on this every year with the Fourth of July, Halloween, Valentine's Day, and many others I am sure I am forgetting. Why do Hallmark and commercialism cash out on July 4th, October 31st, and February 14th? They do _not_ qualify as holidays, and hey, it's not like I've ever gotten _any_ of them off from work. Flags and costumes and stupid hearts (unless they're the candy ones,) take over the country and for no good reason at all. At least with Halloween, you can play a prank or two and have a good laugh about it. Remember that year I stuffed the exploding snakes in your desk drawer? The talking-to I got from Stan was _totally_ worth it, my friend.

Since you asked, I suppose I've gotta confess about _my_ Halloween – my supposed 'plans.' I know this wasn't technically Norah's first Halloween, but she was only a couple months old at the last one, and I didn't even dress her up. Mark tried to get me to, but there was no sale. I was harassed and snippy and had a two-month-old who still wasn't managing to sleep through the night. He thought I had time to truss her up in some cornball getup like those freak-show parents on reality TV? But, since I denied him such pleasure last year, I couldn't very well do the same thing this year (God knows I tried.) Especially now that Jinx and Brandi are here (even Joanna!) I was outnumbered.

Well, if I was going to be dragged along for this circus, it was going to be on my terms, which is not how things started out. The dueling grannies came home yesterday with this outfit so full of glitter, sequins, and bobbles I about barfed right there on the floor. I couldn't even tell what it was! Jinx had already gotten her hands on Colin, stuffing him into a tiger costume (don't suppose I'll get any recognition for _that_ one.) The fur alone almost swallowed his entire body, and was so extravagant I felt sure somebody had worked their fingers bloody making it. She wasn't doing the same to Norah, so I assured both her _and_ Joanna I would find her a costume myself.

What she wore tonight was not exactly a costume, but a compilation, and I was quite proud of myself. I booked it on down to the store and bought her black leggings and a red top with black polka dots. The top was so long it reached Norah's knees, but it was a pretty good look for her. I let Jinx jam her poor toes into a pair of red shoes and, voila…a ladybug. Nanas one and two, no big surprise, did not think the ensemble was complete without headband antenna and wings, but I drew the line. I let them take pictures of her in the accessories, and then whipped them off when Brandi and I took both her and Colin out to trick-or-treat. The neighbors didn't even care that she just looked like some little girl in a red T-shirt; they oohed and ahhed over her like she was the next Miss America. I mean, I know Norah's cute, but she's not some baby model. She looked like she always does and honestly, the treatment she got was nothing compared to Colin. If I hear one more old lady exclaim, 'And with his precious orange hair too!' in regards to that tiger costume, I am going to gag. I did figure out what my favorite part of Halloween is though, at least until Norah's four or five. I get to eat all her candy.

The bug herself is already tucked away in her crib for the night. I guess being fawned over really took it out of her or something. I kind of hate to admit it (not even kind of,) but tonight wasn't so bad. I mean, all the costumes are dumb; I'd be in favor of just knocking on people's doors and asking for food. Who needs all that glamour? But, Brandi was actually in a decent mood when the two of us went out with Mark and Oscar (Jinx stayed at my place to pass out candy.) I think Squish is finally getting the hang of things, or at least isn't so lacking in confidence. She blushed something awful every time somebody told Colin what a cute little tiger he was, although he slept through most of the trek. She tried to dress Oscar up in that bumblebee gear she got him back when she was still engaged to Peter, but I saved the poor mutt from such humiliation. He has gotten really alert, by the way. I totally planned to leave him home with Jinx while we went candy hunting, but he barreled out the door after us. His obsession with Norah has taken itself to a new level. Wherever she goes, he goes too.

I talked to Stan a couple of days ago and got the same account you did. He's talking about bringing Lia back to Albuquerque this summer if he can get the time off. I was surprised to hear it, but I guess he misses the southwest more than I thought. He seemed so excited about going to D.C., and I think he still is, but it sounded to me like he wasn't expecting the workload. I guess he thought he'd seen it all being a chief, but I can't imagine the whackos they send to the deputy. Only the very craziest.

I hope you will notice I made nary a mention of Abigail in granting your request. That doesn't mean I don't want an update if you have one, though. Happy Halloween, my favorite dork.

- Super Mary [I told people that was my costume – badge to prove it.]

X

November 3rd

Dear Mary,

I can narrowly suppose it is November. I will be back in your company in just a little over a month. Should I wait for confirmation before your determination of whether this is a good or a bad thing? I suppose your life could be much more fulfilled with me out here beyond the border. While I might hope this is not the case, I cannot help wondering. I also cannot help thinking you will lead me to believe as much when I am back in the presence of the Sandia Mountains.

Well, needless to say, I am quite illuminated to hear that you participated in all of the giddiness that comes with Halloween. It sounds as though, even with a rough start, you had quite the grand old time. I am sure Norah was quite the dear little ladybug, and it is only fitting with the moniker you've donned her (which we have been discussing an awful lot lately.) I am glad Mark and company got some photographs of the full ensemble. I feel like I won't even recognize her when I get back; I have seen hide nor hair since May, and little ones change so much in a six month span.

Let me see if I can dig up something I am at liberty to share. Since you inquired about Abigail ever-so-sneakily, I will give you a curtailed account of how things have been shaping up. I will divulge that we have been a bit cool with one another; obviously, we do not want to shatter the calm. Part of me would still like to know where her prior shakeups were coming from, but would also prefer to allow the dust to settle on its own. If Abigail has passed on to the other side, I suppose I can content myself with it. It is my great hope that the blows will soften when we are back in Albuquerque. We will have a whole new year to look forward to; there are so many ahead and I, for one, cannot wait to see what each of them brings. More fights, perhaps, but more love as well.

My latest witness is quite the character; I do not think you would entirely appreciate him if he were your charge, as he is quite colorful. You favor the 'sit down, and shut up' types, and he definitely does not fit in that category. But, that does not mean he cannot be a model witness, and I expect just that in the future. Contrary to many of the people we have come into contact with, he speaks English – albeit somewhat fragmented. He works selling his own artwork, which includes truly breathtaking pastel and watercolor paintings. Most of his living comes from his roadside stand, but he's been quite successful even though most of the individuals in his neighborhood cannot always afford his prices. I really can't bear to break his heart and inform him that even once he is in the United States, he will not be able to keep up with his artwork anymore. You and I both know we couldn't allow it under any set of circumstances, but considering he is already identifiable by his shaky English in an otherwise all-Spanish-speaking community, the paintings would just put an even bigger target on his back.

I am of the opinion he can find some solace in the fact that his six-year-old son is able to come into the program with him. He and his ex-wife had a semi-shared-custody agreement prior, but she was recently tagged for an entire string of charges and won't be amongst the public anymore. The son – let's call him Emilio – is showing tremendous promise, even though he's barely been to kindergarten. His father has clearly made an effort to work some English into his vocabulary, and I have a feeling he will really soar in the states. None of this is to say that the schools down here couldn't educate their children, but the funding is so stagnant, that oftentimes teachers and administrators alike are just struggling to make ends meet. I am certain Emilio will have a fantastic experience, be it in New Mexico, Arizona, or Colorado, once he gets a few weeks under his belt.

If you are going to plumb the depths of my marriage to Abigail, does that mean I am permitted to nudge you about your love life (or lack thereof?) I know that Kenny is no more, but might there be new prospects on the horizon? Don't give up the ghost, Mary. You're a great catch.

- Marshall

XXX

**A/N: Pretty light chapter; I totally pictured Norah as a ladybug, but with the simplest 'costume' available. Red and black are pretty neutral colors and Mary is into unisex. ;)**


	22. Crypt Keeper

**A/N: I got a few more reviews last night and that makes me happy. Thanks!**

XXX

November 7th

Mr. Matchmaker Marshall,

Until I _have_ a love life, you're not allowed to comment on it. Just that phrase, 'love life' makes me want to start retching. I don't even know why you would ask me about it, because I only just told you not long ago that I was looking forward to having the house all to myself. Why spoil that with men and their phone calls; their knocking on the door and wondering where I am when I'm at work twenty-four-seven? It's such a hassle – this Marshal thing – and I clearly went about it the wrong way when Raph and I were together. He hardly ever harassed me about what I did, and yet I felt it was simpler to tell him what I did anyway. I am such a failure with the opposite sex, Marshall. Do you really need to remind me?

The only man my life includes at this point is Mark – unless you count Hanson, and I don't. My minivan got a flat the other day (visions of my beloved Probe making me well up here,) and so he picked me up on the side of the road. I tried calling Delia to see if she could do the honors, but she was off with some new gal getting her settled in. The only reason I wanted her to come to my rescue (please,) is because I was headed to work and it's not like Mark has ever been to the Sunshine Building. It really was an unfortunate knot I was in; I would've changed the tire myself, obviously, but I didn't have a spare. Mark was pretty good about it, though. He called the tow truck on his way, and then dropped me at the bus stop so I could get a ride into the office that way. I felt a little bit badly I had to be so cagey and ambiguous about it – for the first time in awhile – but kept my mouth closed.

It does kind of broach a prickly subject though, old partner of mine. We crossed this bridge when you married Abigail and carted yourselves off to Mexico. I _know_ she knows about WITSEC, kind of by default. I cannot confide in Mark; I just can't. He's my friend; there's no situation on our roster that would validate spilling the beans to some acquaintance. But, he's Norah's father. Suppose something happens to me (as if,) and he doesn't know the whole story. It's not really that I want _him_ to know every little element; it's more about Norah. I know it has to stay a secret from her too, but she's my child, Marshall. Not planning on becoming a mother meant I never thought about what I would do if I ended up with a kid in regards to work. I know Seth wasn't a WITSEC inspector, but did he ever keep things from you when he was doing Operation Falcon? Did you hate it, or did you understand? Something tells me you sympathized, but if Norah's anything like me…

I am aware that entire last paragraph was stupidly random, but it's something I've been turning over in my mind as of late. Since Norah's verbal skills have exploded, I'm worried about what she'll repeat if she picks something up while I'm on the phone. I can't take her into the office anymore; I haven't since Hanson was brought in as acting chief. I knew this day was coming, but I'm beginning to wonder why I never contemplated it before it got here. A big part of me thinks Norah deserves to know the truth someday. The other part thinks she's a child – she'll always be my child – and some things will always be none of her business. God knows my parents kept information from me far worse than anything I'm going to be withholding from Norah.

Ah, Emilio. You always turn into such a marshmallow when it comes to brainy kids, doofus. Remember Vic? You wanted to adopt him and he _had_ parents. You can't just go picking up scattered offspring on the street; the law enforcement types kind of frown on that, in case you didn't get the memo. Sometimes I speculate on whether you're seeing yourself in those little geniuses, and then I become frightened, because picturing a Mini Marshal is a bit much for my consciousness. You were one of those types insulting your parents in Italian before the age of five, weren't you?

I need to get going; Mark's coming by in a bit to drive me to the auto shop to pick up my van (seems they needed to tweak a few things besides the tire.) He's already talking about Thanksgiving and Christmas, which is giving me hives. I have so much to do at work, and I'm going to have to start shopping for presents soon. Presents? Gifts? Who do these people think they are that they deserve some sort of penance from yours truly? What world are we living in?

- Crypt-Keeper Mary

X

November 11th

Dear Mary,

You raise an interesting point when it comes to Norah and the perils of WITSEC. I do not want to shoot you down completely when I look upon her future knowledge of the profession. You and I both know I had a very difficult time after you let the cat out of the bag when you were engaged to Raph. While I might not think your reasoning for doing so was overly sound, I have now had the same experience myself with Abigail. I rationalize having confided bits and pieces in her because her occupation is also one of discretion and in the same field. However, I never realized how hard it was be guarded with someone I loved so deeply. It didn't seem fair to her, or to myself.

Norah is still a trifle young to be worrying about this, but if you want my opinion; I do have one. You are not the type to just blurt out details the minute the light turns from red to green – in other words, when Norah is old enough to understand. I think you take each day as it comes through childhood, adolescence, and eventually adulthood. You keep the secrets in the vault, because we cannot keep our jobs or even our freedom if we do not. (And I don't need to tell you that.) If, in the outlook ahead, she becomes curious or else angry because so much of your life is a mystery, I think you ease in the best way you see fit. There is nothing to be gained from revealing to a minor, who doesn't even fully grasp the concept of life-or-death coverts, the unbridled aspects of Witness Protection. I believe there are millions of other ways to say 'WITSEC' without _saying_ them. There is a lot of truth in explaining that you help people, you give them a chance to start over, or an opportunity they might not have had before. There is even more truth in stressing the importance of discretion; the people you help want to keep to themselves so they can rebuild successfully, and so on. It's tricky, inspector; there's no denying. But, fortunately, you have many years ahead to think about it, if and when such questions rise to the forefront.

It is smooth sailing here among the cacti at present, but there are many factors contributing to this state. Cliff had something quite delicate to take care of even further south, and anticipates being gone for a few days – possibly a week. Ordinarily, I would be celebrating this fact, but he decided to take Abigail along for back-up. While I am not thrilled we will have to spend the week apart, I am hoping it will enable us to really start anew upon return. By then, our journey here will nearly be through. And, I really cannot blame Cliff for asking Abigail to go with him. From the sound of it, it was getting very risky and he needs all the help he can get. I offered to go along – not that I relished seven days alone with him – but he insisted I stay and finish up the Emilio case. I didn't really want to say no to that, because the boy is growing on me each day; I will yearn for him when he and his father are gone. Not as much as I will yearn for Abigail; I expect a bountiful reunion at homecoming.

Stay warm up there in Albuquerque. I know the harsh way the winter sometimes invades can make you exceptionally grumpy. For Delia's sake (as well as Norah's and Oscar's,) I wish you a mild November, and a minivan with working heat vents.

- Marshall

XXX

**A/N: I don't suppose there's much mystery concerning Abigail 'on assignment' with Cliff, judging by my reviews, but there you have it! ;)**


	23. Queen of the Distance

**A/N: Thanks again for reviewing. This may not be my most popular story, but I so appreciate those who are reading it!**

XXX

November 14th

Good evening, Poindexter,

Where did that name even come from? I don't mean _my_ calling _you_ Poindexter, I mean the name itself. Is it even a word, or did some Einstein come up with it back in the dark ages? Funnily enough, I don't actually picture you when I say it. I picture some uber-nerd with thick bifocals, a comb-over, and pocket protectors. A dweeb you might be, Marshall, but at least you haven't reached that kind of status yet. There's something to be proud of, right? Unless you've got some insole in your work shirts and don't tell me about it. Because, I would be seriously disturbed if I knew such a thing. The pen cozy was bad enough, and don't even get me started on the Origami.

So…Abigail's off to greener pastures, is she? (Kidding, kidding; of course I'm kidding. How green can they be?) The reason for the trip must indeed be dire, if you can't spare a word or two to your best friend. But, I think you're probably right. Space could be exactly the key to getting you two back to your usual lovey-dovey, mush-mush, high school romance you so enjoy. I was thinking about this Marshall (try to contain your amazement,) and I'm chalking up the tension to just being cooped up too long. I don't know how small your temp. apartment is, but no matter how much you _think_ you want to be around someone, all day, every day in some confined space can turn into practical torture if you're not prepared for it. Hell, you don't think I have experience? Jinx and Brandi are the perfect example (although maybe not, since I really didn't want them around to begin with.) A better illustration would be Mark. Now, I know I gave him a _really_ hard time _before_ he even showed up and found out I was pregnant, but I got _super_ sick of him when he was staying on my couch right before the 'big day' last August. But, the thing was, once he was gone and had his own area to crash in, he didn't seem so bad. Distance is your friend, inspector. I wouldn't expect you and Abigail to rent separate corners every time you fight, but you've just migrated to a much smaller world than your old one. Breathing room can do wonders for a person.

I should get on to more important matters, though. I have a bone to pick with your mongrel (and that wasn't supposed to be ironic, or funny.) Norah's getting big enough now that I sometimes let her eat out of a bowl while she sits on the couch – stuff that isn't messy like cereal or egg noodles (which she loves.) Well, last night she was snacking on some cold macaroni I'd given her right before bed, and her guard dog was sitting on the rug right in front of her. I guess she thought Oscar wanted some of her food, but she wouldn't give him any (that's my girl.) He has a chew toy, and it was sitting nearby, so she points to it like he should pick it up. Oscar managed to take the hint, but once he got it in his teeth, he set the thing on the couch right next to Norah. And, what does she do? She puts her bowl down, grabs that squeaky donut, and _puts it in her mouth_.

I thought I was having heart palpitations or something! She's never done that before! She's put everything else under the sun in her mouth, but the _dog_ toy? I snatched it quick as you could blink and shooed Oscar away for putting ideas in her head. Then I stood there like an idiot trying to get Norah to understand that Oscar's toys are Oscar's, and that we don't gnaw on them like he does, but it was hopeless. She just giggled and gestured at that sack of fleas, babbling something about being just like Oscar. That's _some_ example he's setting for my daughter.

Talk to you soon, Marshall. Thanks for the input about Norah and WITSEC. I don't know why I was worried about it, but I'll keep it in the dustiest corners of my mind if I ever need it.

- Queen of the Distance, Mary

X

November 19th

Dear Mary,

I have the strong suspicion that your inquisitiveness about 'Poindexter' was fleeting, but I do have a laundry list in case you are interested. There were several famous individuals with the surname Poindexter – Admiral John, Alan G., Buster, Charles, George, Hildrus, Jennings, Joseph B., Larry, and Miles. Many of them were figures in government, a few others scientists, and Jennings was a baseball player. I suppose those political and quick-witted types would qualify as the ultimate nerds in your book, but you know I would respectfully disagree. Poindexter was also a character in the Felix the Cat cartoon, and he would definitely fit the geek build. That would be where your definition of the nickname comes from.

I am anxiously awaiting Abigail's arrival; she and Cliff had to stay one extra day, but they are on the road as we speak. It would look like they got whatever mayhem was reigning under control, even if it did take longer than expected. I know only minimal features of this operation, and so telling anything else to you would likely be moot at this point. But, saying so does bring me to a question you brought up one or two messages ago – one I neglected to respond to.

In your investigations of weighing the benefits and drawbacks to eventually revealing to Norah that you are a WITSEC inspector, you asked if my dad ever confided in me. The answer is no; he did not. In truth, he rarely unburdened himself to me, because he didn't think a minor had any business knowing the ins and outs of such an important, high-ranking position. Now, I feel certain my dad was not a WITSEC inspector, no matter how much he kept from me. But, I think that some of my desire to become a Marshal came from the elusiveness – the secrecy – of the whole thing. My dad was sometimes gone for days at a time, with nary a word about why or what he was doing. I had to get in that fold myself to find out what went on behind closed doors, whether consciously or subconsciously. Dad let me in on _just_ enough to make sure I knew, without doubt, that his work was bigger and better that I could feasibly conceive. Operation Falcon was his life blood, but that is not to say he wasn't a good father. He was just tough to read, and sometimes even harder to manage. My mother was really the only one who could break into his shell. Since his retirement, he has mellowed significantly, which is a refreshing change of pace.

Where I am going with all that though, is that there are advantages to giving Norah more than just a gruff word here and there. There is something to be said for not closing up and _acting_ like being a Marshal means you have to stay cloaked in darkness. I hunted deeper when my dad wouldn't give me a penny's worth of information, and if Norah is anything like you, I don't see her going quietly if she gets impatient enough. Anyway, you do not have to listen to me, and you said you wanted to put it aside regardless. I just figured I would respond in case a part of you was still wondering. Speaking of Norah though, while I am not thrilled to hear she intermingled with canine drool, you must understand where the action originated from. She was mimicking Oscar, and mimicking is huge at her age. You have to watch what she sees more than ever, if you want to censor her exploits.

That is enough chit-chat for me, inspector. My lady will be back in just two hours time, and there are things I must accomplish. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

- Marshall

XXX

**A/N: Abigail about to return! Intrigued? **


	24. Turkey Stupor

**A/N: Sorry if I'm driving some of you crazy with the way I'm dragging this out! Hopefully, this will give you a little something to chew on!**

XXX

November 24th

So, what's the skinny, Marshall?

Sorry it's taken me a few days to get back to you, but I got kind of swamped with Thanksgiving yesterday. Jinx and Brandi seemed to think it was a good idea that _I_ host the soiree, which had to be the dumbest thing I'd ever heard. Since when am I a cook? I've spent half my life eating from take-out containers and boxes of cereal; if they thought I could handle a three-course meal, they had another thing coming.

Fortunately, Joanna stepped in like the Avenger, and saved my ass. She seemed to think they wanted Thanksgiving at my place because Jinx's apartment is too small (well, I guess that's true,) and Mark's is such a hole (only, she didn't say that.) She informed me, somewhat bluntly, that my mother and sister probably weren't thinking of my cooking skills when they whipped up this plan. But, who was I to be offended when she took care of practically everything? Her and Mark stayed at my place Wednesday and Joanna cooked, baked, mashed, and sautéed, all day Thursday. Mark watched football and tried to teach Norah how to catch (and a miserable failure he was.) Jinx and Brandi attempted to make a pie, but they were the only ones who ate it. Colin slept most of the afternoon, and was actually not in a terrible mood once he joined the rest of us. It's been a week or so since I've seen him, and he's starting to look like a real person. I remember when that happened to Norah; her eyes started taking things in, she figured out what her fingers were for, and she didn't look at me like I was some stranger. Colin's getting to be the same way; he blinks a lot when he's trying to get the big picture, and waggles his little hands at certain things, even if you're not sure why. And his hair really is incredible; Norah didn't have a full head until she was almost a year old, but Colin's is already a little buzz-cut. It is the most vibrant shade of red, and freckles are starting to pop out on his cheeks and nose. I may have a lot of scorn for this word, but he _is_ pretty adorable.

The best part is, Brandi finally seems like she thinks so too. I mean, I always knew she was nuts about the kid, but she's finally slowing down to get her head wrapped around this mothering thing. She doesn't act so awkward with Colin now, like he's not even her baby. She rocks him when he fusses, and doesn't go haywire if she can't get him to stop right away. You'll never hear me admitting this out loud, but Jinx was right to have her move in. Even if Colin was the only one Brandi had to worry about here, it couldn't have been easy with Norah and Oscar in the background all the time. And hey, you and I both know I am not the most encouraging influence on a person. It's not like I'm sorry about it; it's just a fact of life – kind of like the sky is blue; something that can't be disputed. As a plus though, Brandi's still pretty puffy from her pregnancy days, so at least I'm not the only broad carrying around a few extra since popping a kid. We're tied by something, I guess.

I think I got kind of off track there, Marshall. But anyway, Thanksgiving turned out pretty well, and Joanna is most definitely cooking all my big meals from now on. She made a _ton_ of stuff, and like it was nothing at all. I ended up helping her with the turkey (if you can imagine that,) but she sculpted everything else; delicious mashed potatoes, rich gravy, some sort of rice and bean casserole, breaded stuffing, and an extra pie just in case nobody felt like eating Jinx's and Brandi's. (Good call.) It was one _sweet_ smorgasbord; no getting around it. I may have drunkenly thanked Joanna while I was on a turkey high; who knows what I might have said, but busting buttons doesn't even begin to describe my demeanor after all was said and done. I even had Norah try a bite of mashed potatoes, which she loved. She really can't use a fork or a spoon yet though, and so her fingers looked like she'd gone cloud-dipping post-meal, but it was worth it. I could tell Joanna thought so too; she nearly sprouted light out her ears at seeing Norah so happy.

I'd ask what you did for Thanksgiving, but that would be a non-starter in Mexico. Jesus Marshall; you're missing all the good holidays as well as the pithy ones. But, I guess you might've had a holiday of your own with Abigail coming home last week. How'd your little rendezvous shake-up?

- In a Turkey-Stupor, Mary

X

November 30th

Dear Mary,

I contemplated whether or not to message you a second time when I hadn't heard from you. A week is not that long, but I have a matter of some fragility that requires some attention, and I have been getting very agitated. I am starting to feel trapped, because I don't know who to speak to about this. You would obviously be my first choice, but I wasn't sure whether e-mail was the place to get it done. It seems far too large, and far too complicated, to be hashed out over a period of days – when you can't hear the words, read the lips, or speak the language. But, I am out of options and I am sure you are getting extremely impatient with me at this very moment. But, like when you wrote to me after Brandi went into labor, I think its imperative you stick with me. My head is fuzzy; my wits and nerves jangling in trying to process whether my skepticism has any merit.

It's this thing with Abigail. Saying it makes it worse; putting it out there makes it accusatory, and that is the last thing I want to do – especially if I'm wrong. I could ruin our entire relationship if I am incorrect; it would put Abigail in a terrible position, and I don't see how she could ever forgive me for it. It is a very tall order, and not something to be entered into lightly. She got back from her assignment six days ago; she was coming home that day I e-mailed you last. I thought right away that something must be off with her, but wanted to give myself some time to ponder before jumping to conclusions. Now that I've had the opportunity though, I do not feel much better or, indeed, any differently. I wanted to believe I was wrong, but can't figure out a universe where that is possible given everything I've put together. I think Abigail may be having an affair with Cliff.

I say that with as little drama as possible, because even considering it puts knots in my stomach the likes of which you cannot imagine, Mary. I don't know how to handle something like this – I never thought it was possible, and we've only been married six months; give or take a few days. If this is really happening, how could we have gone so wrong so quickly? We may have rushed into the wedding a bit, but that was because we loved each other, and because I am older than Abigail (of which you waste no time reminding me.) I'd been searching for Miss Right long before Abigail came along; she was like water in the desert, an oasis after my other botched courtships. I love her; there's never been any hesitation in my mind of that. Up until recently, I never questioned her feelings either. Why would she marry me if she weren't certain? Granted, that was before Cliff came along, but even so. If she had reservations, shouldn't she have told me?

That word, 'affair' tastes so tart against my tongue. I suppose it implies such deceitfulness has occurred on more than one occasion; otherwise it would be a 'one night stand' right? I might think this was the case – that Abigail and Cliff just hooked up on their mission – but looking back to those times we were quarrelling, constantly on opposite sides of the fence; it leads me to believe the tryst was going on before that. It fits, no matter what way I slice it; it still fits. You would have to be here to know; you'd have to hear the way she spoke, and interpreted how she acted, but it becomes clearer with each passing recollection. So often, our disagreements were about Cliff and how he ran the division. I was baffled to think she would stick up for him instead of me, or even just brush my concerns aside, wanting to, 'talk about it later.' This would also explain why she threw you into every single argument we had. If she were feeling guilty, she would want me to feel the same. Does that even make sense?

Regardless of my sudden hunch, I also cannot shake the sensation that I might be completely wrong. We may have a bigger problem than I estimated; a bigger mystery than I can even foresee. But, try as I might, there is nothing else on the horizon that slides into place with everything else that's been going on. Abigail got here on Monday, and without venturing into the range of 'too much information,' I will tell you she was quite happy to see me. Of course, I was overjoyed and had an evening planned for the two of us to share together in celebration of her return. Everything went as intended, and I was starting to think we were back on the right track; that you knew what you were talking about when you said time apart could mend wounds. Only, after all was said and done, she did something of a one-eighty. She became particularly emotional, and I was befuddled to say the least. She wasn't so much angry as she was upset; I tried to get to the bottom of her turn-around, but she wouldn't give in.

It turns out that Abigail had…bought something to wear that night (trust me; this is as embarrassing for me as it is for you.) The next morning, after she'd gone to work, I was going through her bags so I could put in a full load of laundry before I headed out for the day. I found another article of clothing similar to the kind she had worn for me tucked away in a sack at the bottom of her suitcase. Only, this one had obviously been worn too – the tags weren't on it – and the receipt was still there. She bought it while she was away with Cliff.

There are other indications, but none that I wish to beat to death at this moment. It took enough out of me just trying to relay everything to you, and I am going to hate myself if I am totally off-the-mark. This isn't something I can just throw out in casual dinner conversation, but it's not something I want to sit down and chat about with Abigail either. My head is spinning from the possibilities, and I have no idea where to go from here. I'd think the whole thing could be put to bed since we're due to return to Albuquerque middle of December, but can't envision that happening. Cliff or no Cliff, the deed may have already been done, and I can't just step away from it. But, how does one go about approaching such a subject? They do not have manuals for this sort of thing.

Please give my love to Norah, and whatever you have to say about this Mary, I would appreciate it if you'd speak kindly. I at least know that I don't have to stress you keep it to yourself.

- Marshall

XXX

**A/N: Marshall doesn't seem too dim, does he? I mean, he loves Abigail; he wants to believe the best of her, LOL! At least he's figured it out by now, right? ;)**


	25. Love, Mary

**A/N: Hope you guys enjoy this one, even if there isn't a ton of stuff happening!**

XXX

December 2nd

Marshall,

I tried to get back to you as soon as I could. I didn't know until this morning that you'd written to me again; I had to drive Brandi to a job interview yesterday, and was at work for most of the night. I wouldn't have made you wait if I'd known what was sitting in my inbox. I want you to know that I read that last line of your message very carefully, and I am taking it into consideration. I am only going to 'Mary' this once, I promise. So, listen carefully.

Sack up, strap on, put on your big girl panties and do it.

Marshall, you _have_ to talk to Abigail. Nothing is going to be gained from keeping buttoned-up. Even if she isn't sleeping with Cliff, something is obviously going on. You're her husband; you have a right to know what it is. You have more right than anyone else on the _planet_ to know what it is. If there are things she feels like she can't tell you, then you two have a problem. I may not be an expert when it comes to relationships, but I've figured out over the years that staying closed down – like I do – doesn't get you anywhere. I ruined so many connections with guys because I didn't want them to know the whole story. I didn't want them to know about my father and how much he'd hurt me. I didn't want them to know I had a mother who was a drunk, or else a mother who _used_ to be a drunk. I especially didn't want them to know about the fact that I had a little sister six years younger, but still an adult, that couldn't take care of herself because I hadn't taught her how. Raph never even knew that I'd been married before, and we ended up engaged. Whatever the circumstances Marshall, keeping secrets – even if they're _my_ kind of secrets – doesn't lead to anything favorable. All they do is get you in trouble, and you've already got more trouble than this is worth.

Having said all that though…I really hate to tell you this, partner. I don't want to put ideas in your head, because it's not my place. I don't know what's going on, and I haven't seen any of what you have. My sense of judgment is wasted on this. But, I know how intelligent you are. I know how you operate when you want to uncover the truth. You're careful; you're calculating; no stone goes unturned. And Marshall, if _you_ think Abigail's having an affair – I mean, if you've done your homework – then maybe she is. All of that wasn't even supposed to be a compliment embedded within dropping such a blow; it's just the way it is. You don't hurl allegations at people; you don't act before you're certain (we've never been the same in that way.) Don't doubt yourself and your abilities on this just because you don't want it to be true – not that I'd blame you if you were. It's tough, and it sucks; no bones about it. I haven't stepped on this landmine either, so I guess this is new to both of us. I wish I could tell you what to do. I wish I'd been there to see if what _you're_ seeing is the same as what _I'm_ seeing. All I can tell you is that if Abigail has been double-dipping, it comes as much of a shock to me as it does to you. She might not exactly be my cup of tea on some stuff, but she seems like a good person. She's good at her job, and I thought she was a good wife to you – or at least a good girlfriend, since I haven't been around you two since you've been married. Whatever her motivations though; I don't want to hear you blaming yourself. She's an adult. She makes her own decisions.

I am sure I don't need to tell you that you should get some more evidence before you decide to talk to Abigail, that is _if_ you decide to talk to her. But Marshall, don't wait on this. If you've got the answer, it doesn't benefit you to just sit back on your haunches and linger about waiting for her to come clean. Don't sell yourself short; you're a federal Marshal for a reason. You have instincts the public doesn't. You deserve the facts from your own wife. If you had to be honest with her about _our_ relationship, she can be honest with you about whatever is going on with Cliff.

I need to get going; I'm late running back to the office after lunch. I had to come home and grab my coat because it dropped to like, twenty-below overnight. Is there any way you can get to a phone and call me? I know you said the headquarters phone was only for emergencies, but you'll be gone in a few weeks and you've never used it before. Surely they can make an exception. I really want to talk to you about this and get a read on what you're really thinking. I can't glean it all from words on a page. In any case, get back to me soon.

Love,

- Mary

X

December 5th

Dear Mary,

I have had a few extra days to mull everything over, but have not gotten very far. I am sure you're annoyed it's taken me three days to give you an update, but the last thing I wanted was to let my guard down in front of Abigail. If she sees me sitting around, playing typist and writing lengthy messages to you, she's going to become wary. I have to be careful, or I will not look credible when I confront her.

About that – I've made a decision. I'm going to talk to her tonight. I have not quite worked out all the phrases or each insubstantial word, but I have a general idea of how to go about discussing this. There is little misgiving in my mind now that there is definitely _something_ happening with Cliff. It may not be as overblown as an affair, or even a midnight romp; for all I know, they could've merely kissed and Abigail is feeling especially shameful about it. I do not want to believe the worst of her before I have given her a chance to explain herself. It is not her fault that Cliff and I do not get along. Early on, she made such an effort to build bridges between us. If we were unreceptive, she cannot be blamed for that. She also cannot be blamed if Cliff came onto her; I have seen the way he is with women. It's entirely possible he attempted to get fresh with Abigail and she had no part of it. Until I hear otherwise, it is what I am choosing to accept as true.

I know what a step it was for you to reign yourself in, and limit yourself to only one line of snark on my behalf in your last note. I wanted to tell you I appreciate the consideration. Mary, regardless of what happens with Abigail and I, my last message was not an invitation for you to debrief on your own struggles with men. There are various reasons why you have not found 'the one' yet, but that doesn't mean it's of your choosing. Sometimes, we _do_ run because we're afraid. I don't look at it as a strength or a weakness, but as part of who we are; who we're molded into from a very young age. Like it or not, James put you through the wringer and changed your entire outlook from the age of seven. I am aware we never cross into these murky waters because of how uncomfortable it makes you, but I would venture a guess he's changed a part of you since his death as well. No matter who you are, losing your father in such a brutal fashion – in front of your very eyes – would mess with anyone's head, Mary. It's not a flaw, and if it's the reason you and Kenny parted ways – because it was just too soon – that would be a perfectly valid reason. You don't have to admit to it, but I know how much your father meant to you. A confused part of you must miss him now that he's gone.

Cut me some slack on my rambling and analyzing, inspector. I am far more panicked than I have ever been in my life, because in spite of the planning and cunning way I've approached this, nothing can prepare me for it. Abigail and I have reached a plateau and it's time we faced whatever wedge has forced itself into our union, but that doesn't make it easy. It's going to be painful for me as well as for her, even if I am mistaken about her and Cliff. There is not a good ending here, but as you said, we're just sitting in park unless we address it. Marriages are often fraught with complications and roadblocks. I am hoping that if we get through this one early, it will make future obstacles that much easier to hurdle over. The first one is always the hardest.

I'll let you know – when I can – about how things shake out. Wish me luck, and give Norah a kiss from me.

- Marshall

XXX

**A/N: I apologize for making you wait again! Hopefully it's worth it!**


	26. Love, Marshall

**A/N: I kind of wonder if anyone has been paying attention to the dates on the e-mails. They're not exactly important, but telling when you see the time lapse, or how quickly Mary or Marshall answer. ;)**

XXX

December 6th

Mary,

I don't even know if you've read my last e-mail, but I couldn't wait for you to respond. It's after midnight here, and so I'm sure you're in bed and won't get both of them until tomorrow if you're lucky not to be so busy. I just don't know what to say or do, or where to go from here, and I need help. I don't know what I expect you to help me with from a thousand miles away, but there's nothing else to be done.

Mary, it was _terrible_. I still don't know the truth; Abigail wouldn't tell me, and I'm more mixed-up than ever. I did the best I could; I really thought I was being as sensitive as possible, but Abigail flew off the rails before I was two minutes into the discussion. Her reaction leads me to believe she has indeed been sleeping with Cliff, but she never said the words. She wouldn't even focus on herself, because she was so busy casting responsibility onto me, and I am baffled to think I never realized she had such strong feelings of resentment toward me. Six months of marriage, and she's been harboring an anger for longer than I realized. I have been so blind, so unsupportive; I drew the shades and ignored her when she needed me, and I _still_ don't know how to stop.

I am having a hard time typing because I am a little overwhelmed, so I beg you forgive any typos on my end. Abigail isn't here. She stormed out after our fight and hasn't come back, and I don't have to guess to conjure up where she went. It's late and I'm so tired, but I couldn't possibly sleep right now. I can't think of any good way to tell you this, so it's best I just put it all on the table. Abigail thought you and _I_ were having an affair – before Mexico. When your dad showed up, she thought we were lying; she thought all that time we were spending at work was time we were spending in bed. She thought I left our engagement party because I was running off to be with you. I mean, I _was_ running off to be with you, but it was because James had died and you were all by yourself. I couldn't live with the decision to continue having a great time while you were all alone, without any family and that bastard Agent O'Conner. You'd been through _so_ much and you're my _best_ friend, Mary. I couldn't stay away, and Abigail _swore_ to me, after so many conversations, that she'd come to terms with it.

She hasn't, and I don't think she ever will. I tried to tell her how much I love her, that I want to spend the rest of my life with her; that I love her in a romantic way in which I no longer love you. Does having a wife mean I can't have you as a friend? That's a trade I can't make in any capacity. Of course, I would be there for Abigail if she were in crisis; in times of tragedy and in times of triumph, in sickness and in health. I fail to comprehend why I cannot do the same for you if it doesn't affect mine and Abigail's relationship, and it hasn't. I've been away from you for six months, and she can't let it go. Her jealously has reached a level I can't even weigh up. She was so upset; I never even caught what she thought the two of us were doing when we were writing e-mails back and forth. Did she think we were conspiring to get 'back together' on our return to Albuquerque?

Mary, none of this is your fault. It's not your fault at all; she's wrong, and both of us know she's wrong. I refuse to let you go just because Abigail can't accept the truth, but I wish that _I_ knew the truth. Abigail doesn't really have to say it; everything that came out of her mouth indicated that she was having an affair with Cliff because she thought you and I had done the same. Or at least, that's the way she's reasoned her way through it. I don't know if she's attracted to Cliff or if she's in love with him. It's entirely possible she doesn't _really_ think what she says she does about you and I at all – she's making it up to save face, because she's afraid of hurting me even worse than she already has. I don't know what to think, just that I saw an Abigail tonight I've never seen before. Whatever happens tomorrow morning will be the real test. I don't think she'll be able to hide anymore, but I am flabbergasted to think there could be more confessions ahead.

I'll talk to you soon. I hope I didn't mystify you too badly, but I'm so lost right now. I wasn't sure where else to turn.

Love,

- Marshall

X

December 6th

Marshall,

I want you to get to a phone and call me _right now_, as soon as you can. I _need_ to talk to you about this; we can't do it over cyberspace anymore. What I can say right now is that I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that your marriage to Abigail has suffered through this so early on. It's not fair. It's not fair that she would cheat on you, and it's not fair that she would use us as an excuse to justify it. My only hope at this point is that she'll man-up enough to admit to what she's done and take that guilt off you.

Unfortunately, I don't have a ton of time to talk, which is why I need you to call me. I'm experiencing something of a hurricane in my life as well. Norah took a really bad fall yesterday in the living room, which is why I hadn't read either of your e-mails last night. She and Oscar were sitting on the floor; Norah was playing with her blocks, but she lost one and it went skittering across the floor toward the kitchen. She got up to go retrieve it, only Oscar got up with her (like he always does.) He was behind her, and got a little overenthusiastic and tried to run. He knocked into her on his way and she fell face-first onto the hardwood and hit her head. I was right nearby, but she let out this ultrasonic shriek like I've never heard before in my life. I got her on ice and took her to the hospital; they said she didn't have a concussion, but are worried about how the spot might swell, so I have to keep packing her head with bags of ice and sacks of peas from the freezer. The lump on her forehead is nasty; it looks like there's a purple golf ball imbedded in her right temple. Fortunately, her hair covers it if I brush it the right way, but I can tell its throbbing and it's hurting her. It's not even the pain that seems to be upsetting her though. I'm afraid she got traumatized by the fall, because she will not leave my side, and screams bloody-murder if I leave her alone for half a second. I put her in my bed with me last night, which made for a long evening since I had to keep her forehead from engorging with ice. The only bright spot in this ordeal is that Norah doesn't seem to have noticed it was Oscar that caused her big tumble. He peed all over the floor when she screamed, and if I thought dogs had emotions, I'd think he felt bad he was the root of such a thing. He went cowering away with his tail between his legs, but as I said, Norah is oblivious to that part. I said it was a bright spot because I know Oscar would probably miss her if she wouldn't go near him anymore. Unfortunately, the only one she'll go near at this point is me.

I'm sorry for having made this all about me, Marshall; I just wanted you to know what was going on. Just call me. I'll make sure I answer, no matter where I am or what I'm doing. Right now, I've got Norah on my lap with a sack of Ore Ida frozen fries and she keeps trying to reach the keyboard. I think she misses you too.

- Mary

XXX

**A/N: We shall see! Now both of them have issues LOL! Never a dull moment! Hope you enjoy what's to come… ;)**


	27. Belleza Sin Limites

**A/N: It seems there is something very strange going on with the reviews; either people can't review or the site is saying they already have. I'm not sure, but it's a bummer! Especially since we've reached the climax and this will be tapering off soon. Hope this latest installment isn't too long, but its epic. ;)**

XXX

December 9th

'Harold and the Purple Crayon' was still an old favorite of Norah's. Mary had been reading it to her since she was a newborn, and she never tired of the tale. Since her mother had been over the story more times than she could count, she often tried to come up with new ways to make it interesting. As Norah was on the fast-track to forming full sentences, even at just sixteen months, Mary thought their nightly readings provided a good opportunity to expand her vernacular even further.

It was a rare moment in the last few days that did not include a package of frozen meatballs pressed into Norah's skull. The bump just above her right eye was as gruesome as it had been three days before, but at least it was no longer pulsating. That meant Mary could hold her daughter on her lap and revel in the book for the first time in awhile. Norah was already dressed for bed in her mint green pajamas with the pink cuffs – courtesy of Joanna in the mix of unisex and feminine. There was a tiny pink caterpillar crawling at the top of the shirt, which was about as much design as Mary let adorn Norah's clothing.

"Bug, what is that…?" she pointed at the purple utensil which decorated each page. "What is Harold holding?"

Mary felt Norah squirm from where her chin rested atop her silky blonde hair in order to point. All that came out of her mouth was babbles.

"What sound?" Mary prodded again. "Crayon; what sound is that?"

"C-c-c-c…" Norah tittered a moment later. "C-c-c-c…har…har…"

"Harold," Mary corrected, dropping a kiss on her curls. "Harold and the Purple Crayon."

This earned her a smile as Norah turned to gaze up at her with a genuine grin of delight at something so simple. In those split seconds, Mary wondered if she could ever feel so at peace. Her daughter was safe in her lap, her snoozing companion huffing gently below their feet. She could even see the red and green lights from the tree in the corner twinkling, reflecting in Norah's large eyes. Though Mary usually denied it, the presence of the tree was cozy, even if it was artificial and boasted only a few presents in its lower branches thus far. She often found herself picturing more by the time Christmas arrived, stuffed to the limit and knocking the bottom ornaments to the ground – like many a Christmas she'd envisioned as a child.

"That's the end for tonight, Norah…" Mary informed her, shutting the book and sliding it to the coffee table. She had planned to allow her to fall asleep during the reading in hopes she would consent to being placed in her own crib, but took a different route. "Let me get a look at your contusion…"

Lightly, Mary began to brush her bangs aside, only to hear the knock on the front door. Norah started at first, jerking from Mary's fingertips to listen to the sound. Oscar went on high alert at once, ears perking and jumping to his feet, tail waggling absurdly among it all. Mary also took her turn at glancing, wondering who would make their way through the cold at such an hour, hoping nothing was wrong with Jinx or Brandi.

"Come on, love…" was her only response as she lifted Norah onto her hip, hearing her diaper crackle beneath her pajama bottoms. "Let's see who it is."

Mary reached the door in a few short steps, Oscar trotting on his nails behind her. Not thinking to look through the frosted glass, Mary opted for pulling the handle to reveal who waited on the other side.

But, the man on the other side wasn't who she was expecting at all. This man was not supposed to be on her doorstep, looking unbearably cold and rubbing his arms to keep heated. He was not supposed to have a suitcase at his feet, which indicated he might be staying. He especially was not supposed to be looking as forlorn and dejected as he was right now – like he'd lost his best friend. Like he'd lost his wife.

"Marshall?"

Mary breathed it uncertainly, posed as a question, because the person posted there on her stoop didn't _look_ like Marshall at all. He was no taller, but looked leaner somehow. His clothes hung off his shoulders, as though his bones were too frail to hold them. His hair draped limply in front, somewhat trimmed but not in his usual stylish 'do. He wasn't wearing a coat, which explained why he was shivering. There was also a dark beard that combed his cheeks and chin, hiding his pale blue eyes; looking steely in the wintery wind circling them.

"I couldn't get to a phone," he finally trembled miserably.

Mary's mind was on fast-forward; suddenly recalling how she had been dying to hear from him over the last few days, wondering when he was going to tell her what was going on. She'd contemplated getting Stan in on the action the next day; getting her a number where she could reach him. It appeared as though her work was cut out for her, and with this thought, she gestured Marshall inside, shutting the cold outdoors.

"I thought you weren't supposed to come back until the fifteenth," Mary recalled softly, ignoring his distraught explanation. "Is Abigail with you?" she hitched Norah higher onto her hip, who had begun to clutch at her neck in the presence of – Mary's heart sank – a stranger.

Marshall shook his head as he trailed his fingers on Oscar's head, sitting obediently nearby, "No," his eyes didn't meet hers.

"You came back from Mexico by yourself?" she pushed. "Does Abigail know you're gone?"

"Yes," another one-word answer.

Mary wasn't sure how she was able to put aside the fact that she hadn't seen Marshall in six months, and was only just now realizing in his presence how fiercely and passionately she'd missed him. Even with his new scruffy look, he was so familiar and such a comfort. She was worn-out from spending so many of her hours with a clingy Norah, and he was a Godsend. At the same time, she knew her joy at having him here with her was going to have to wait. He hadn't come all this way for anything pleasant.

"Hey buddy…" Marshall murmured at Oscar, stroking a little more comfortably as the dog warmed up to him once more.

Awkwardly, he made his gaze travel back to Mary, her head pressed end-to-end with her daughter's. It was taking him a moment, but he was rapidly realizing that when the door had first opened, he hadn't registered this little girl as Norah. She was nearly twice the size of her former self, with a full head of white-blonde hair. Her bangs were cropped in front, framing striking green eyes, and her strands curled into ringlets on her neck; the tiniest bit of curl in back.

"This…?" his mind was catching up with his mouth, but he still spoke in an undertone. "_This_ is Norah?"

"Yeah…" Mary forced a laugh. "Who else would it be?"

"I just…" Marshall shrugged. "She's grown so much, and you never mentioned all this hair…" he nodded the indicated direction.

"Well, it seems you left out a bit of a memo on that front as well," Mary referred to his beard. "Nice mountain-man look you've got there."

Marshall's heart thrummed with such thrill at hearing her tease him that he wanted to cry. Words could not express how much he'd missed his best friend, and this gorgeous baby girl; he'd missed six months of her life, something he swore would never happen. He was about to find out just how much his absence had been noted, when he reached to tweak one of Norah's feet dangling out of Mary's grasp.

"She's beautiful, Mary…"

The second his fingers closed around Norah's toes, she wiggled away and began to whimper, just as Mary had suspected she would. It had nothing to do with Marshall; she was fearful of everyone since her fall. But, she knew he might take it personally; he'd think it was his own fault for having been away and unrecognizable to a child of sixteen months.

"Mama…" her little one bleated, turning her head away from the unknown, pointing it into Mary's neck. "Mama…"

"Shh…Bug, come on…" Mary encouraged, kissing her hair and rubbing her back while Marshall withdrew his fingers. "I'm sorry Marshall; it's really not you," she insisted, much more magnanimously than he was expecting. "Did you get my e-mail about the…?"

"That she fell," Marshall picked up the phrase with a nod. "Yeah, I did. How's her head?"

"It's a little better," Mary was honest. "The lump is still really impressive, but it's not throbbing so much anymore. And it shouldn't be, I've had ice on her skull every day since it happened."

Marshall made himself chuckle, "I'm sure you have."

Mary smiled as easily as she knew how, still trying to coax Norah's head out of her shoulder blade. It might have been strenuous in the past few days, becoming the truly single parent because Norah recoiled from anyone else who tried to get near her. But a selfish, somewhat sick part of Mary enjoyed the fact that her daughter adored her 'best.' In this millisecond though, she felt a pang of pity for Marshall. He would want to hold Norah, and she would never let him.

"Come sit down," she finally offered the couch with a wave of her free hand. "Have you had anything to eat; are you hungry?"

Marshall was able to hide his surprise at Mary's hospitality while he followed her to the sofa with Oscar not far behind. There was a strange sort of softness to her right now; the likes of which he hadn't seen at all in their eight years together. Could she really have changed that much in only six months? She had sounded just the same in all her messages.

Marshall settled himself across from her on the couch, leaving his suitcase by the door. The Christmas tree in the corner finally caught his eye, and he had trouble associating it with Mary. Having one was so domesticated of her, as were the various ornaments swinging idly from its branches. He could discern from the scent it wasn't a real tree, but he appreciated its presence just the same.

"You have a Christmas tree," he finally voiced stupidly while she got Norah situated on her lap.

Mary flicked her eyes upward, "It's December," a hint of her old sarcasm snuck its way in.

"Of course," Marshall bobbed his head up and down. "I'm just not sure I ever remember you having one before. I mean, I've been to your house at Christmas, and…" he allowed his voice to trail away, raising his eyebrows like the rest of the sentence could speak for itself.

"Well, I never had anyone to share it with before. What's the point of having a tree when it's just you?" she shrugged while Norah snuggled deeper into her lap. "Raph always used to go home to the Dominican Republic for the holidays, and Jinx and Brandi never had much use for one. I figure with Norah, though…" she ran a protective, gentle hand over her little girl's shiny blonde streaks. "I mean, I don't want her to miss out."

Marshall nodded solemnly, wondering in the back of his mind how he was able to sit here like this and pretend nothing was wrong. He was in a virtual tailspin, and yet he could speak as calmly as if this were any old day of the year. He was sure the minutes were dwindling until Mary felt the need to ask why he was here. He'd taken quite a trek to get home before his scheduled time, and she would definitely pick up on it. That was why he'd come in the first place.

"I really can't get over how big she is," he made more idle conversation, gesturing at Norah, but making sure not to touch her.

But, the child was sharp, and her reluctant eyes turned even darker with him probing so closely. She did not burrow, but sunk further into her mother's chest, never allowing her stare to leave his. She might've been anxious, but she was also determined.

"Mama…" Norah articulated a third time, but it sounded different. It sounded informative, rather than a cry for help. "Mama, head…"

Marshall played along, "Did you hurt your head?" he asked kindly, blinking sweetly at her nestled in the crook of Mary's arms. "Can I see?"

"Show Marshall your bump," Mary poked her out of the shadows, wanting Marshall to get a better look. "It's pretty gnarly…"

She tickled tender fingers across Norah's hair to sweep her bangs aside. Every time she got a good look at it, her heart gave a cruel lurch, like she might be sick. She knew Norah was fine, but the ghastly purple color; the way the knob penetrated her skin made her ache inside. Not to mention the way her daughter continually grappled at her neck, as though terrified it was all going to happen again.

"Wow, now that is something else…" Marshall extended a cautious hand, but placed it against Mary's flesh, rather than Norah's. She fidgeted and moaned at having him close, but protested no further. "I'm glad she's okay, Mare. She probably gave you a scare."

"Yeah…" Mary attempted a nonchalant shrug, pulling Norah back against her chest. "It's weird. When I felt that massive thud she made, all I wanted was to hear her cry," she revealed. "Like when she was born – if she cried, I'd know she was alive. If I'd run over there and found her knocked out or something…"

"With you, the eagle eye?" Marshall winked good-naturedly to distract from the wetness he saw shining in Mary's eyes. "Never gonna happen. She's not concussed, right?"

"No, she isn't," Mary was quick to respond. "That's what they told me, anyway."

"Good," the flow of conversation was picking up now. "Nothing can take down this girl…"

He made a third attempt at striking contact, and settled for a hand on one of Norah's outstretched legs. She didn't pull away this time, but Oscar reared from his place on the floor beside them and did something Marshall had never heard before. He growled deep in his throat, baring his teeth; sitting livid and ready to pounce. Marshall was shocked and yanked his hand away at once, but Mary was faster.

"Oscar, no!" she snapped sharply. "Marshall, let him smell you again…" she shook her head sleepily.

"Oscar, it's me, buddy…" he knew he'd been gone awhile, but he hadn't expected this, as he let the dog's nose roam all over his hand.

"I'm sure you're gonna get tired of hearing this, but it isn't you," Mary maintained her mantra. "He doesn't let anybody touch her except for me. He's finally getting used to Mark, but Jinx and Brandi have been gone long enough now he's weaning them off too. I've had to lock him in the yard a few times because he's so Goddamn protective," she explained. Raising lighthearted eyes to his, she finished with a shy smile, "Sometimes, I don't mind though."

With the dog nearby and becoming reacquainted with Marshall, Norah began to come out of her shell as well. She scooted on her butt to the edge of Mary's lap to present tiny fingers on his snout.

"Ox…me sit…" she chattered as the canine closed his eyes at the touch and immediately backed off the defensive. "Ox…"

"Oscar," Mary translated for Marshall. "Hasn't quite got the rest down yet. Tell Oscar to sit," she spoke to her daughter once more.

"Ox sit…" Norah repeated, but it was too muddled to be coherent.

"Oscar, sit," Mary stepped in coolly with a bored snap of her fingers, but the mutt's behind immediately fell to the rug with a hearty thump.

Marshall could not contain his disbelief and settled himself further into the couch as Norah grinned appreciatively at the pet's trick.

"You _trained_ him?" he inquired, an air of being impressed in his three words. "Seriously?"

"Well, somebody had to," Mary was even patting his head in praise. "And I wasn't going to have him barreling around like a wild wolf with Norah in the house."

"You've been busy since I left."

Only one word – four letters – in that stretch punctuated the issue they had been dancing around for fifteen minutes. They were very good at that; evading a subject. Marshall had once called it, 'a lot of talking without talking.' It was amazing how skilled one could be about a task so trivial.

Mary persuaded Norah back into the confines of her arms, adjusting her so she would lie sideways with her head against her chest. It was obvious she wanted the child to succumb to sleep, and spoke quietly following Marshall's pronouncement.

"So…" she whispered, fingering Norah's hair almost automatically; she let out a contented sigh. "What are you doing back so soon? Why did you leave Mexico a week early? What happened with Abigail?"

"That's a lot of questions," Marshall exhaled, trying his hardest to get comfortable in the throw pillows. "Which would you like me to answer first?"

"Don't they all kind of cover the same thing?" Mary rebutted lethargically, knowing keeping her eyes open was going to be difficult, but also knowing she had to do it for Marshall's sake. "I'm not trying to make you feel worse. I've just been worried about you."

Marshall arched his eyebrows, "You have?"

He wasn't sure why such a phrase came out of his mouth, because he honestly was not surprised when he thought about the urgency of her e-mails in regards to the situation. He'd done something of a one-eighty upon seeing Mary in person again; he'd forgotten how much of an effort she'd made over six months to keep up with him, to make sure he was happy. The stricken look that flitted across her features saying he'd overlooked this proved the point.

"Hard to believe, I guess," she said diplomatically with a small smile, resting her chin on Norah's head as she kept up her stroking.

"No…no it's not," Marshall was quick to expose his shame. "I don't know why I would even question that. If I'd been paying any attention to your e-mails, I would…"

"Marshall, don't," she shook her head slowly to avoid upsetting Norah, who was beginning to close her eyes. "Just spill. Were you right? Was Abigail actually sleeping with this Cliff guy?"

Saying it out loud felt very outlandish to Mary. It had felt like this taboo topic to be kept in the vault until instructed otherwise. It was odd, how unreal things like that seemed when they were discussed solely over the airwaves and with no one else.

And yet, she could tell just from the look on Marshall's face that he didn't need to respond to her demand. He suddenly looked as weary and worn-down as he had when she'd first opened the door. His beard made him appear aged, and she suddenly wanted his ridiculously perfect hair in its rightful place once more.

The sigh came first, "Yes…"

It was all he could manage. He began to shudder; shoulders quivering, and he bent his head in obvious humiliation. Mary even saw his cheeks go pink as he shook his head back and forth to regain control. She waited as long as she could, knowing he would want to speak like he was coherent, but felt every artery rip out of her heart upon realizing the shakes weren't shakes anymore. They were brought on by the company of tears, very understated, but present nonetheless.

"Marshall, please don't cry…" she beseeched him, wanting to touch his hand if not for knowing Norah would start wailing again. He was too far away to do that unless she released her daughter, who was nearly asleep. "Please don't. Tell me what happened."

He didn't appear as though he was in any shape to do so. Oscar had altered his approach and was whining softly now, nudging himself against Marshall's swaying fingers as if only just remembering his scent.

"I'm so embarrassed…" he gulped, finally glancing up with glimmering eyes, and he truly looked it.

"Marshall, why?" Mary breathed, rocking Norah as a reflex to put her completely down. "You don't have anything to be embarrassed about. I just want to know what's going on. Abigail admitted it to you? Is that what happened?"

He swallowed, "Yeah, she did. I asked how many times, and I don't even know why; I don't want to know…"

"It was just an impulse," Mary brushed that aside, not finding it overly important. "She even tell you?"

"Not really…" Marshall conceded, running an index finger under his right eye to keep it from leaking any further. Despite his heartache, Mary couldn't help noticing how quickly he was transforming back into the Marshall she knew so well. He was just telling the story now. "But I gathered more than once."

Mary was unsure how to proceed as she watched him collect himself, wondering how his ego could recover from a blow of this magnitude. He was such a good person; he'd always been a better friend than she deserved, but it had taken this trip to help her realize it. She'd never appreciated just how much she relied on Marshall until he was gone. Those messages had been as much for herself as they'd been for him, and it was time she handed him something to hope for.

"Well…Marshall, I know it's totally inconceivable right now," she began, feeling the sweet rise and fall of Norah's chest, meaning she'd crashed. "I'm sure you don't even want to think about it. But, people work through these things. They somehow find a way to move on, and to put it behind them. I'm sure Finkel…"

His interruption was unexpected, "Abigail doesn't want to put it behind us."

Mary fed him furrowed brows, strictly unable to fathom what he meant by such a statement. If Abigail didn't want to put the past where it belonged, that could mean one of very few things.

"What?" she whispered.

The desolation, the utter despair in his beautiful blue eyes was physically painful for Mary. She knew in the split second before he said it what the verdict was going to be.

"She's leaving me."

There might've been an earthquake in that moment – a tsunami, tornado, or hurricane. Three words had just rocked the foundation of their planet; turned everything upside-down in a completely unpredictable fashion. It was visible from the excess drops of wetness that dotted Marshall's cheeks that he felt it just as strongly as Mary had. It was killing her. Who would do such a thing to Marshall? To this Marshall? To _her_ Marshall?

"Oh…Jesus…" she finally managed, which was about the least poetic response there was, but it summed things up pretty well. "Marshall…"

The rest went nowhere. What else could she say? What else could she do? She was a washed-up broad with a daughter who had an iron grip, and countless failed relationships under her belt. What good was she? If she thought back far enough, she was actually part of the problem, according to Abigail herself.

"I can't even…" it was pointless for her to try and go on, and yet she still tried. If Marshall wasn't going to stop crying, she couldn't stop the fight to make him feel better. "Just like that? She's done?"

It was not what she'd meant to ask, but the alternatives weren't very sympathetic, and so what ejected from Mary's mouth wasn't so bad. It was almost worse that Marshall wasn't completely falling apart. This understated, quiet weeping that he repeatedly attempted to stem was far more excruciating. He was making such an effort, even now.

"She said it happened too fast…" he shrugged with a sad little squeak on the final word, flesh pinking again beneath his beard. "That she wasn't ready; that she jumped in hoping things would work themselves out…"

"Well, that doesn't really tell you much," Mary couldn't help voicing, more to herself than to Marshall.

"There's too much that she is unsure about; she doesn't want to live a lie anymore…" Marshall spoke right over her, but Mary did the same.

"Little late for that."

He didn't even really seem to hear her. His nails were scratching into Oscar's scalp now, somewhat of their own accord; just to keep busy. His eyes kept darting to Mary's, to his lap, and back again. He was too inundated to keep himself in one spot. And for his partner, she'd never felt so far away from him. After half a year apart, it was incredible to think being two feet in front of each other could promote distance. And yet, keeping the space with Norah and Oscar between them felt like miles from the Grand Canyon. She yearned to be near him; he was on the other side of the valley right now.

Fatigued blue orbs finally came back to her face; "I feel so foolish…" a hand immediately smacked itself over his eyes, to keep from having to face the degradation. "I'm so stupid…"

"Marshall, you're not foolish…" Mary refuted at once, but could think of nothing to follow it. "You're not stupid. This isn't your fault. How on earth could it be your fault? I want you to tell me that; do you have an answer to that?"

He countered in a remarkably short frame of time, uncovering his features once more.

"I just…I didn't understand; if I'd tried to see where she was coming from…" he gulped; a shot at pressing on. "This might not have happened; she wouldn't be so confused, she wouldn't have turned to someone else…"

Mary was angry; the flush burned high in her cheeks so quickly she might've spiked a fever. There was no time for her to stop her mouth shooting off; the defensive nature she'd honed from such a young age couldn't stay at bay. It snarled and rumbled its approval from the most jagged parts of her heart.

"That's probably the first stupid thing I've ever heard you say."

This earned her quite a look – bewilderment, to say the least. He looked like a child; a little boy who had been beaten up on the playground. Only, it was so much sadder because he wasn't a little boy. He was a grown man who had-had far more inflicted on him than a fist fight.

"I don't want to hear you talking that way," Mary adopted her pitch-perfect witness tone. "Shit like that about _my_ best friend is barred in this house."

She hadn't meant it to be funny, and yet could've sworn Marshall's eyes softened at the phrase, like he took some sort of pleasure in it. When she thought he might've evened out just enough, Mary knew it was time to take the risk with Norah. For the past three days, her daughter had refused to leave her side, but now she was snoozing serenely in her lap. Not ready for her to wake up alone if it didn't prompt the desired result, she settled for the chair just to her rear.

"Give me a second…" she informed Marshall, who nodded seeing her stand and adjust Norah ever-so-slightly so she wouldn't come to.

It was only a moment before Mary had her sequestered in a well-worn blanket in one of the armchairs, just the right size for Norah. Oscar had risen as well and followed her every move, from adjusting the covers to stroking Norah's hair one last time.

"You're on point, Ox…" she whispered to the dog, using his new nickname, and Marshall was touched to see him slump down right at the foot of the chair to sleep below his companion.

Mary returned to the couch, having to hold herself back from nudging her body far too close to Marshall's. He wouldn't be expecting her to initiate any kind of contact – she wasn't exactly known for such a thing. But, the air already felt much less heavy now, and it was with this realization that she spoke more freely.

"Have you been home?" Mary asked, suddenly deciding this was important. "Why do you still have your suitcase? You didn't come straight from the airport," it wasn't a question.

"I can't go home," he informed her bleakly. "There's a tenant renting the house until the first of January."

Mary was baffled, "But, you were supposed to be home the fifteenth. Where were you going to stay? What about Christmas?"

"Well I…" he choked slightly, but willed himself to remain together, wringing his hands somewhat agitatedly. "We'd planned to come home for a few days – bunk at a hotel – and then fly to Texas to stay with Abigail's parents until the New Year."

Mary's soul, if possible, dropped even lower into her stomach. Here Marshall had lost his wife to his boss, and now he had nowhere to live in the middle of winter. He didn't have a house or anything to wear other than the clothes in one bag. She assumed the rest of his things were still in Mexico, or else in the closet at his supposed home.

Her next question was going to be, 'Where will you go now?' but the message didn't make it to her brain in time, and it came out something entirely different.

"Why don't you stay with me and Norah?"

He was so fast to dispute her, she nearly got dizzy. His ability to be a gentleman never left; not even for a second.

"Oh, no…" he wagged his head side-to-side to aide her comprehension. "Mary, I can't do that. You just got your house back to yourself, and you were so excited. I couldn't do that; you don't want me here…"

"When did I say that?" Mary interjected a little more roughly than she meant to. "You don't take up a lot of room, Marshall. I can't put you out on the street."

"It wasn't _you_ that put me out on the street," he reminded her softly.

Silence fell once more, but Mary knew that even if he protested all night, she would still get him to take up residence on her couch. It was late, and he wouldn't be able to book a room at such an hour anyway. She would venture a guess he was exhausted enough to not fight her for too long, no matter how chivalrous he wished to be.

It was with this thought that she scooted even closer to him. All of a sudden, she felt strangely conspicuous in her drawstring pants and hooded sweatshirt; like a has-been. In spite of how Marshall had been hurt, he couldn't fully wrap his head around the consequences yet. His brain hadn't caught up, and he still missed Abigail. And Abigail was young, cute, perky, cheerful; the whole package. She was just Mary; old clothes, unimpressed, and still carrying around twenty extra pounds from a pregnancy sixteen months gone. She badly wanted to be a best friend. It wasn't until today that she'd realized how badly _she_ needed _him_ to be her best friend.

"I'm sorry, Marshall…" she finally voiced after the quiet had persisted long enough. "I hope you know that I am."

Whether he knew that or not was immaterial, because he'd caught himself in his own sorrow once more. Mary couldn't blame him.

"Forever…" he whispered desolately, eyes graying in their misery. "We said it was _forever_…"

She could only nod.

"I thought it _was_ forever. I mean she…" he blinked and a single, final tear escaped. "She's the only woman who's ever loved me."

It was a violent sensation; the sadistic way Mary's insides rocked and crumbled with that kind of a confession. The lump in her throat was so huge she thought she might choke on it, or else tears threatening to spill over. He was the greatest friend she'd ever had – the only person she could count on one hundred percent of the time, and she'd never been attracted to him. Yet, he didn't even know the flip side of it.

"Well, Marshall…" her face was as impassive, her voice as understanding as she could make it. "I know it's not what you mean, and I know it's not much, but…"

Her blood was pounding in her ears as she thought about admitting it, even if only in the capacity of friendship. It shouldn't be this hard. She shouldn't have become _this_ closed in.

"But…_I_ love you."

The sickly smile she managed was ridiculous; he couldn't possibly be buying that she'd said it so naturally. It didn't change the injured flash that passed through every vein in his face. He worried he'd hurt her feelings by neglecting to add her to the list. But, Marshall was known for being quick.

"I…" several flutters of his eyes before he got a handle on it. "I…of-of course. I'm sorry; I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking…"

"It's not like I do the best job of owning up to it," Mary broke in so he wouldn't trip over his words. "But I thought tonight might be a good time to get it out there."

Marshall acknowledged this with a grave nod, now appearing a cross between heartbroken as well as ashamed. Mary didn't honestly think he had anything to be ashamed about; regardless of whether she said it or not, she'd never really doubted Marshall knew she loved him. He knew how she was. But, hearing it was another plane all together.

"Could I tell you something?" he ventured after another second or two.

Mary obliged, "Sure."

He proceeded with several more swipes of his eyes. Mary could glean, just from his pallor and how sunken his face was that he was running almost on empty. That made two of them when you considered her twenty-four-seven bout with Norah who was, blissfully, still asleep.

"I just, um…" he bumped himself ever-closer; their legs were almost touching now. "Abigail thought there was something going on between us – between you and me…"

"Well, but there's not…" Mary cut him off, knowing she wouldn't have agreed to such an exchange if she'd known what it was going to be about. "So, there's no reason for you to feel bad…"

"Be that as it may…" Marshall went on, sounding a little more like his old self with the phrasing. "There was a time…a long time ago, when I…"

Mary's heart started to strike hard and fast against her ribcage. It was splintering her bones; making her feel very trapped and very hot. She wanted to run away, and yet knew it was imperative she stay put to hear him out. She just prayed that the presence of 'there _was_ a time' indicated past tense. That time was not now; that time was no more. She couldn't bear to break his heart when he had already gone through so much with his wife.

"…When I did…feel a little something for you…" he concluded self-consciously. "Something…_more_ than friendship."

Mary gulped down a hearty amount of discomfort and kept her face as blank as possible.

"Oh…" she respired softly, even sweetly; nodding to project the image her nerves were not clattering around inside her very core. "Okay…" her tone was so high-pitched she came off childlike. "But, you…you don't feel that way anymore…I guess, right?"

She'd wanted to wait for him to admit to that, to not scare him away before he'd had a chance to clarify, but she was unable to help herself. She really was trying, and the composed lines drawn in Marshall's features indicated that she just might be out of the woods. He was too vulnerable right now to be able to hide his emotions if she'd just dashed his hopes all to hell. They were friends. Best friends. No more, no less.

"No…" he shook his head confidently. "I don't. You can breathe now, if you need to."

Mary laughed loudly, and it came out very trembling; she cursed herself in hopes that Norah would not rouse. But, it almost would've been worth it if she had, because she'd made Marshall smile with his joke. The melancholy lingered behind his eyes, but it was obvious he hadn't meant to put her in a bad position, and was lightening the mood.

"I'm sorry, Marshall…" she was still a little dizzy; punch-drunk with a sad grin she flashed his direction, hand on her forehead. "I wouldn't want you to think it'd be the _worst_ thing in the world if you had the hots for me, I just didn't want to…"

"You didn't want to upset me," he articulated in a low voice. "I understand. It took awhile, Mary; I can't completely lie to you. But, after Raph and Faber I just kind of backed away for a bit – got my feet wet again. It faded," he admitted. "By the time I was with Abigail; that romantic desire just wasn't there anymore. No offense…" he tacked on politely.

"None taken," Mary assured him. "But I guess Abigail just didn't see it the way you did – the way we did, huh?"

"I suppose not," Marshall murmured quietly.

Mary bit on her lip and nodded, taking them swiftly back to nothing but the sound of the whistle through Oscar's nose, even the deep breaths punctuated by Norah in the chair. Mary knew she'd just reminded him of what a nightmare he was facing after five heavenly minutes of peace. She couldn't imagine how he must be feeling, but he'd worked at getting over someone he loved and survived. But now, he had to have been wondering why he'd made the effort in the first place, if this was his reward.

Eventually, he broke the hush with a question of his own.

"It doesn't bother you…" he whispered, eyes locked on hers. "That I told you that, does it? I know it's kind of strange after all this time…"

"It's okay, Marshall," Mary promised him easily. "I'm not blind, you know. I saw a few things back in the day. I was pretty sure I saw when it changed too. Let's forget it."

Surprisingly, Marshall looked like he agreed with that sentiment and pinched the bridge of his nose; rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. Mary took this as a 'hell yes' to move on, and got to work at once before he could protest any further.

"Come on…" her hand floated and patted his knee without thinking, but she was up off the couch before indexing it in her brain. "I've got some sheets and stuff in the office…"

Fortunately, he followed her the designated direction to the room with her computer and file cabinets. Bits of paper littered the keyboard; pens missing from the cups. Marshall had pictured her sitting here so many times in the last six months, and took it in with fondness. Mary was rooting in a set of drawers looking for linens when a particular sheet of paper caught his eye.

Picking it up; he saw it was crumpled and discarded behind the computer, but had obviously missed a trashcan. Unfolding it all the way, he recognized his own words staring back at him. The time stamp indicated he'd sent it August 18th.

"What's this?" he inquired while Mary pulled her head out, sheets and a blanket in hand.

"What?" she stepped over to him, arms laden, and scanned quickly to see what the fuss was about. "Oh…" she even managed a laugh. "That's the e-mail you sent me when you prattled on about the stages of labor. Do you remember?"

"Sure, yeah…" Marshall signaled his recognition, but was still somewhat lost. "But why…?"

Mary's skin went the tiniest bit red as his words tapered away, looking for the rest of the explanation. She wasn't sure why she was embarrassed. After all, considering the kind of conversation they'd just slogged through; this was a piece of cake.

"I um…printed it off the morning I took Brandi to the hospital…" she told him with a sheepish smirk. "I was worried I might forget what to do and that was kind of my cheat sheet."

Marshall was strangely pleased, and also proud of himself as well as Mary for the fact that she'd actually retained some of his information – or that she'd wanted to. In a way, it made him feel as though he'd been in Albuquerque for Colin's birth, despite having missed it. A part of him had lived through it regardless, and nobody could take that away.

"Where's…Norah's crib?" he asked uncertainly, removing the paper back to the desk, looking around for the little girl's living quarters.

"I'm moving her into the guest room – or what used to be the guest room," Mary said swiftly, making her way back to the couch. "She's big enough now; she probably needs something other than an alcove." Dumping the bedding to the couch, she pressed on, "I'll show you what I've got so far; let me put her to bed."

Mary knew, even before she hoisted her daughter under her arms that she was likely to wake up. It was too good to be true that she might get a night of real rest under her belt since Norah's accident. She could almost hear the familiar sound of her given name spilled from the child's murky and sleep-dusted throat.

"Mmm…" she whimpered as Mary clucked her tongue and balanced her head on her shoulder, supporting the rest of her with just one hand.

"Go back to sleep, Bug…" she muttered softly, rubbing neat, concentric circles onto her back.

"Mama…?" the word fell out, but she kept her eyes closed as she nuzzled into Mary's neck.

"Mama's here, but it's time for bed…" she swore as Marshall watched nearby, astounded by his partner's tender, gingerly nature with the little girl. It was like a whole new woman had come into play underneath her usual coarse exterior, and he liked it. "Say goodnight to Marshall."

At the presence of an unfamiliar name, Norah's eyes flickered into slits on the face over her mother's shoulder. She appeared leery, but not entirely timid. One of her hands was suspended out of Mary's grip, and Marshall reached to squeeze her fingers as lightly as he could.

"Night-night Norah…" he crooned. "I love you."

Marshall could only see half of Mary's face, and could still tell he'd gotten a smile out of her. When Norah didn't flinch at his touch, he went the extra mile and dropped the softest of kisses to her silky hair. Her only reply was a relaxed sigh as she allowed Mary to lead her off to bed.

Marshall followed as expected, Oscar trotting at his heels, and saw that Norah's new room was still a bit empty. He took in a rocking chair and changing table, but not much else, as the rest of her things were still scattered about the house. This appeared a recent development, and he wasn't going to be able to tell much in the dark anyway.

Mary was readjusting Norah inside her crib, where she immediately reached for a battered brown bunny and held it against her cheek for comfort. Her mother leaned over the bars and pressed her lips to her forehead, even though it was clear she might've already dropped off once more.

"Sleep tight, Norah."

Marshall was patient as Mary watched carefully, making sure her daughter had drifted back to dreamland. He felt a surge of success knowing how pleased she'd be to have made some sort of progress in weaning Norah off her current attitude. It had to have been quite a modification after the fall to have Norah so dependent on one person. He knew it to be true when she turned through the gloom with a long exhale to face Marshall in front of the crib once more.

"You look tired," the man observed in an undertone.

"Oh, I'm just…" one more glance at Norah. "Kind of burnt-out is all. She's gotten so attached to me since she fell; it's been like having a newborn again," she lamented. "If I can get her to sleep in here tonight, maybe she'll be better tomorrow; we can start putting this thing behind us."

"Right…" Marshall nodded sympathetically. "I should let you get to bed."

"You've gotta be tired too; I hope you sleep okay," was Mary's response.

"I'm sure I will."

Neither was sure how to leave it. They rocked back and forth on the heels of their feet, Norah sleeping soundly just below. The light from the hall cast shadows on their faces; throwing only one of Mary's green eyes into relief. She knew they could not just stand here all night, no matter how nice it was listening to Norah's tranquil breaths like the beat of both their hearts.

"Well…" Mary eventually whispered. "Goodnight Marshall."

She didn't know what made her do it. But, her feet stepped forward; her arms extended out and drew him inward. He was very tall when she wasn't wearing heels, and the space in his chest was quite warm. For a man who had been so horribly wronged, he was terribly strong and sturdy for her to fall into. His hands squeezed against her back once – only once – but it only reinforced the closeness; the here and now in which they coincided. From above her, he exhaled slowly; basking in a moment that had come very few times before.

Mary hadn't taken note until it was right in front of her.

"I really missed you," she sighed honestly.

Marshall didn't need to be guided twice, "I missed you too."

And as his eyes strayed around the contents of an otherwise empty room, he realized for only the second time that night that his presence had been in this home whether he'd physically been here or not. It pulled at his heartstrings in the best way possible, for the first time in ages.

There, hanging above Norah's crib on bare and stark white walls was a pink and yellow weaving which read, 'Belleza Sin Limites.'

Boundless Beauty.

XXX

**A/N: A practical novel, I know. Only two chapters left!**


	28. Building Blocks

**A/N: I neglected to mention in all the hoopla with the site not working, that I wondered if anybody would be disappointed Mary and Marshall are still just friends. But, I've never gone that route before and it seemed appropriate for this story.**

XXX

December 12th

After two days with Marshall, Mary wondered why on earth he had never stayed at her house _before_ he'd gotten bummed off by his wife. Regardless of whatever disappointment he was feeling, keeping busy seemed to be some of his only solace. He had nowhere to go since Hanson and company weren't expecting him back until the fifteenth and, subsequently, not taking up his old position until after the first of the year with the holidays. This meant that Mary, without even trying, had found herself a new baby-sitter.

Norah was slowly but surely starting to break out of her comfort zone where other individuals were concerned. Her primary go-to was still Mary, but as her head healed, so did her mind-sent. Nonetheless, Marshall couldn't help noticing she skillfully avoided the part of the floor where Mary claimed she had collapsed. For one so young, she had an awfully good memory.

On a Wednesday evening, Mary came home to find her trio – Marshall, Norah, and Oscar – doing some block-building, one of Norah's favorite activities. The tower was teetering precariously high; Mary kept her eye on it while she deposited her tote next to the couch and took her coat off.

"One more might fit…" Marshall teased, Norah standing to place yet another block. "Careful though; you're the giant, you might blow it down…" he adopted a deep tone, which earned a shy smile from Norah, already dressed in pajamas.

"Hey, you two…" Mary greeted them, leaving Oscar out as she approached, surprised to find Norah not shriek her name at the mere opening of the front door.

The sound of her voice did it, however, and her daughter turned with sheer joy at both her creation and her mother being in the room to see it.

"Mama!" there was the squeal. "My's tower…" much gesturing and finger waving accompanied this murky statement, most of which Mary didn't quite catch. "Bocks…" she offered a cube to demonstrate.

"Isn't that nice?" Mary mused, taking the little one around her waist, mindful not to shake the floor and destroy her masterpiece. Immediately, she tucked the child between crossed-legs on the floor, Oscar sniffing curiously nearby. "You didn't have to get her ready for bed Marshall; I could've done it…"

"Ah, it was no problem…" he assured her, looking absurdly striped with the blocks stacked up between them. "Thought we'd get comfy-cozy before becoming architects…" he was wearing basketball-print bottoms of his own.

"Better put that last one on before it falls, Norah…" Mary advised her daughter. "Show me how you do it."

Norah grasped the pitch and unfolded herself from Mary's lap to do as instructed. However, her mother couldn't help noticing the devious grin playing against her little one's cheeks. She was constantly impressed by how much Norah appeared to understand, even at only sixteen months. And right now, she was recalling Marshall's 'you're the giant' story, and also how much Mary loved a good crash.

Without further ado, she did not even bother trying to hide her intentions. She practically threw the remaining block at the skyscraper, knocking the entire thing to ground with a vivacious giggle. Marshall accepted a face of enormous mock-surprise, clapping his hands to his still-bearded cheeks.

"Oh, no!" he crowed dramatically. "It's all gone! Oh, those poor people! They got smashed by the big…" he clawed Norah's ribs and she tried to squirm in next to Mary. "Scary…!" Marshall was too quick and yanked her into his chest. "Giant!"

Norah howled feverishly with excitement, "Uh-oh!" beneath Marshall's tickles.

"Uh-oh is right…" Mary decided, and with help from Oscar's motoring nose, was able to get the blocks back into a pile before Norah tripped once more in retrieval. "Having a giant in this place is tricky business, Bug."

Marshall amused her with his long fingers in just enough time; before she became agitated and overwhelmed. Her sighs were breathless and happy when he stopped tickling and she huddled contentedly in the man's arms. Two days before, she wouldn't have dared go near him, which reminded Mary to do a quick inspection like the mama bear she was.

"Give me a look, my love…" she leaned from where both her and Marshall sat cross-legged and eyed the purple lump, once so spectacular. She was pleased to see it was a shade of yellow now, and shrinking back into smooth skin before her very eyes. "Just about there," she determined.

"Gorgeous either way," Marshall decided while Mary eased back.

One of their more painless silences fell as Oscar dragged himself across the floor to be nearer to Norah, now that he was through with the blocks. Head on his paws, he stationed himself as close as possible, Norah sticking fingers out to lay them on his head. Mary and Marshall weren't the only pair of best friends in the house.

"How was work?" Marshall eventually asked, Norah allowing Oscar to lick her hand. "Anything I can help with?"

"You don't think you're helping enough already?" Mary asked, indicating her child. "You saved my ass by coming back early."

"If only that were the real reason I left the humidity behind," he smiled sadly.

Mary brushed over that and answered the question, "Same old. Delia's trying to plan a Christmas party, but I don't know if I'm gonna be up for it," she busied herself twirling a block in hand.

"Why not?" Marshall wanted to know.

"Just a lot to do…" she shrugged, nudging a foot at Oscar to make sure he was only using his tongue and not his teeth on Norah's flesh. "I still need to buy gifts for Norah, and I haven't gotten anything for Colin yet. What do you even buy for a newborn?"

"Strictly speaking, Colin isn't a newborn anymore," Marshall corrected her. "Nearly four months now, if I properly recall."

"Just the same," Mary nearly spoke over him. "Half the presents you pick up for babies are actually for the parents – all the clothes and the bottles and crap."

Marshall nodded good-naturedly with a genial smirk, but his attention had strayed elsewhere. Norah's brilliantly blonde strands of hair were just begging for a kiss while she allowed herself to be stationed in his lap. Mary was unable to stop herself noticing he took infinite pleasure in the few curly coils at the base of her neck. She reveled in those herself.

"You know you can stay with us through Christmas," she brought up somewhat spontaneously, watching him melt over her daughter. "Not _just_ 'cause you're my baby-wrangler," she wanted to sound more like her old self in hopes it wouldn't bring to the forefront what he was trying to forget.

Unfortunately, it appeared the damage had been done. Without meeting her eyes, he spoke in a voice of forced calm.

"I talked to Abigail yesterday."

Mary buried the need to have it out with him for not mentioning such a thing. There was probably a reason – she was not the most objective person – and she did her damndest to remember that. A neutral question was safest.

"What about?"

He hunched his shoulders, doing a better job of looking right at her, but unable to decide whether he wanted to stroke Norah or Oscar more. His hand kept jumping from one spot to the other in obvious agitation.

"She's back," he offered plainly. "With Cliff. Staying at a place he rents out in Santa Fe."

Mary swallowed very hard in biting back a sarcastic comment, "She felt it was prudent to tell you that?"

"Well, the first part," Marshall sensed her frustration; she could tell. "Just so we can figure out when to divvy up our things from the house; get things cracking. I don't think either of us wants to live in it anymore."

She had no good response to that and troubled herself with a block a second time. Norah snorted through her nose while playing with Oscar. Mary suspected she might be trying to imitate him again with the way he wheezed out his nostrils so loudly.

"Just…going to the house means I'll have to see her…" Marshall continued unexpectedly, shutting his eyes at the thought. "And I really don't want to see her – not now. Not anymore."

"You don't have to," was Mary's immediate response, although she knew this probably was not the case. "Not for awhile anyway. I mean, don't go until you're ready. Don't let her dictate that."

She wondered, vaguely, if that was very sound advice. But, Marshall hadn't done anything wrong and he didn't deserve to be walked all over anymore. He could divorce on his own terms; he didn't have to play by Abigail's rules. Mary also debated whether Abigail was very sorry about what she'd done to him. She couldn't decide, not ever having come into contact with an Abigail that would do something like this.

"You are being startlingly rational about this whole thing," Marshall told her out of nowhere. "Dare I ask what you really think as far as Abigail is concerned?"

"I'm pretty sure hearing something like that would probably make you feel worse," Mary offered him a wily smirk to show it was nothing very kind.

Marshall contemplated that momentarily, lost in his own thoughts. Norah crawled out of the bowl formed by his legs to get at Oscar. She was babbling incoherently, holding up one of her blocks for him to see. He simply sat, never once raising his head, but paying rapt attention to every word – disordered or not. He was her loyal servant, right to the very last note.

"Well, I wouldn't mind listening to how you feel at this point," Marshall eventually conceded. "Two days ago, probably not. But, I think I'm ready to fuel the anger at this point."

"Only if you're sure," Mary quipped tentatively, and he gave a solemn nod.

She knew she only had once chance to get this out to the best of her ability, and so she was extremely quick. She folded onto her knees, cutting into the hardwood, and placed her hands over Norah's ears. She writhed only momentarily before neglecting to notice the change and Mary let it loose.

"I think she's a cruel, cold bitch for what she did to you, and I hope to Christ Cliff bangs some other chick so she knows just how bad you feel right now. Even then, it's not nearly enough."

Satisfied, but a little nervous to see how Marshall was going to react, Mary removed her hands and let Norah go on her merry way. In the back of her mind, she knew they should probably get off the floor, but it didn't seem important right now. In response to her declaration, Marshall whistled low in his throat and seemed oddly impressed – not an emotion Mary could've foreseen.

"How lyrical of you," he reflected with a hint of amusement.

"You asked," Mary reminded him, grousing in an undertone.

"That I did," Marshall wasn't one to back down. "And with your more compassionate nature where all this fits in, I had no idea you felt this strongly. That wasn't just for my benefit, I hope?"

"Why would it be?" Mary snapped her eyes to match his, her peripheral vision catching Norah sprawled on her stomach on the hardwood to get a better look at her canine pal. "Marshall, we're…" a sigh inched its way through. "I _thought_ we were best friends, and…"

"Wait-wait-wait a minute…"

Mary ought to have known one word; one alternation in such an ordinary phrase would catch his attention. She shouldn't have slipped up like that. Now they were going to have to go around the bend, and it would be messy. She hated messy.

"You _thought_ we were best friends?" he targeted as she'd known he would. "_Of course_ we're best friends. Why wouldn't we be?"

He sounded so certain – far more certain than he'd sounded about anything in the past few days. Mary was grateful for that, but didn't relish having to explain her gaffe. There wasn't much to it, and she pondered how to get it out in the most succinct way possible.

"Marshall, I didn't mean…" that was bad; she tried something else, shaking her head as she did so. "I just…" hearing it in plain English was going to sound bizarre. "I don't act like your best friend," she finished softly.

His face told her nothing but the fact that he was truly befuddled. Not one single part of him understood, and the last thing Mary had wanted was to confuse him even more than he already was. He'd been put through the wringer and didn't deserve something else slapped on his pile. Before she could clarify, however, he was voicing his concern.

"Why would you say that?"

He sounded so-_so_ sad, like he was afraid her statement meant he was losing his grip on her – that he was losing her the way he'd lost his wife. Mary intended to disprove that at once.

"I just mean that…" a swallow; so many tense conversations in so few days. "I never realized how much I relied on you until you went down to Mexico. I never told you this, but in that first week, I tried to call you probably sixty times – _not_ kidding – and I'd forgotten every time that you wouldn't pick up," it was uncomfortable to admit, but she had to. "You do a lot for me Marshall, and I really haven't given you much in return."

"That isn't true…" he insisted a little too quickly.

"Oh yeah?" Mary scoffed. "What grand gesture have I made that compares to anything you've done for me?"

"Would you like me to start with saving my life when I was shot and work my way back?" he tried to joke, but Mary wasn't in the mood.

"I'm serious, Marshall," she informed him sharply. "I'm trying to do better; I really am."

He shook his head at this, but Mary hoped he sensed her tone and was going to leave it at that. He knew she was making an effort now; that change was in the works, and had been since his first fateful days across the border. It had been hell being apart, but they were in a different place now. So much had altered since June, and yet Mary thought – at least as far as their friendship was concerned – something had broken as well as improved, nearly simultaneously. She didn't even feel like it was Abigail's infidelity that had caused it. She, Mary, had wised up in her partner's absence. Such a title prompted another question in hopes that they could leave the other in the past.

"You know, Hanson keeps asking me what you're planning on doing come January…" Mary interjected swiftly. "I get the feeling he wants to stick around. Call me crazy, but I think he's gotten fond of me," she put up a well-timed wink to show this was a fib of the largest degree.

"I don't really know…" Marshall sighed, disturbing it with a chuckle upon seeing Norah nearly zonked out next to Oscar on the floor. "I guess I'm technically acting chief; Hanson was just a temp."

"I think a switch could be arranged…" Mary prodded persuasively. "If you're more at ease stepping down."

Marshall didn't miss a beat in each gesture; each raise of her eyebrows. He knew where she was going with such suggestions, and knew she probably didn't want to sway him unnecessarily; she had her dreams too. They hadn't had a lot of time as chief and inspector, and considering his whirlwind of a personal life, he didn't anticipate being the best boss this time around.

"You saying you want to be my partner again?" he ventured cautiously.

"I'm saying you should do what makes you happy," Mary gave quite the diplomatic response.

Marshall sighed, but it was with fatigue rather than uncertainty, and she knew she'd probably have to wait another day or so before she garnered a definitive response out of him. She could wait. She'd waited six months. She could wait a little longer.

"What would make me happy is to get this little missy to bed…" he decided predictably, laughing another time seeing Frick and Frack snoring on the ground. "Sleeping on wood can't be good for that tender head of hers."

"Always on top of things…" Mary stood up with a groan, careful not to slip in her socks while Marshall lifted Norah from her position. Remarkably, she stayed asleep and merely shifted further into his grasp. "I'm gonna get something to eat; I had Chinese a couple hours ago, but it was quick…" she gestured toward the kitchen.

"Sure," Marshall agreed. "I'll join you in a minute."

"Thanks for putting her down," Mary smooched one of those precious cheeks before departure.

"Absolutely," the man gave his final word before heading back to the bedroom.

Mary was halfway to the kitchen once he was gone, running through different foods in her mind, wondering whether there was actually anything in the house she _wanted_ to eat. Instead, she reverted to the counter drawer and started pawing through take-out menus. She could get a pizza and split it with Marshall; that way, she wouldn't have to cook or go out in the cold. Pizza by a shimmering Christmas tree sounded nice.

But, before she could pick up the phone, there was a knock on her front door. Just as perplexed as she'd been two nights before, Mary took pause before striding the length of the room. Once there, she noticed that the frosted glass was still more iced over with the bitterness outdoors, and so she couldn't see the visitor even if she'd wanted to. Unlocking the deadbolt, she pulled and came face-to-face about the last person on earth she wanted to see.

Abigail danced on the spot, a long black overcoat draped around her shoulders; a hunter green scarf hiding her neck. Her reddish-brown curls were shiny under the glimmering stars above; cheeks beautifully pink from the cold. Her eyes had been touched with the lightest bit of shadow, lips strikingly red. Her gloves were fuzzy. She didn't look miserable. She looked styled and stilted and perfect. It made Mary sick.

"What?"

It was all she could muster through tightly gritted teeth. She wished Oscar were there, but knew he was busy keeping his nightly watch on Norah. To make up for it, Mary leaned on the doorframe, wondering why Abigail did not look more abashed. Unlike Marshall, Mary needed no time adjusting to the revulsion this woman had wreaked on the man's life. It had already seeped into her soul and was itching to come out her fists.

"Is Marshall here?" Abigail asked flatly. "I need to speak with him."

That Southern Belle's twang made Mary want to puke. It was so falsely innocent; so deceptively pure. Mary cursed herself for having bought into it as well. They all had. They'd all been wrong.

But, what Mary was forcing herself to remember now was that Marshall had been very clear about one thing. He did not want to see Abigail. She refused to let such a thing happen when he'd been so adamant. She wasn't sure if she would've allowed it even if Marshall had been all right with a conversation. She had opinions too.

"I want to see Marshall," Abigail nearly repeated when Mary didn't say anything.

"Sounds like you want _a lot_ of things," the inspector mused spitefully.

She was about to go on when Abigail stopped her, "Mary, I really want to talk to Marshall, and I _really_ don't care what you think of me."

An idyllic segue. Mary practically salivated at the opportunity.

"That's good," she nodded. "Because I think you're a cruel, cold bitch," her memory was impeccable. "And thanks for _asking_, when you show up at _my_ door. But no. You can't see Marshall."

Mary had never been more eager to slam a hatch in her entire life.

XXX

**A/N: Thank-you all for the many reviews you left on the last chapter; definitely the most I've gotten on this story, and it made me feel better people were reading it when the site was acting up.**

**Only one to go! Hopefully it doesn't feel like it's ending too abruptly. :(**


	29. Staying in Park

**A/N: I hope you all enjoy how I wrap this up. It's kind of open-ended, but I don't like to close every door even when the story is over.**

XXX

December 15th

Mary might've been against the idea of a Christmas party when it was planned by Delia. She couldn't stop the rash it brought on when she had to think about dancing, drinking, and spreading merriment with people like Hanson. But, when it came to what she referred to as a 'gathering' in her own house, it sounded a bit better. It gave Marshall an opportunity to see everyone again – like Jinx, Brandi, and the rest of the crew – but without being bombarded. At his request, she'd finally confided in her mother and sister that Abigail would not be Mrs. Mann much longer, due in large part so he wouldn't have to answer a thousand questions at the party. That settled the most awkward of matters Mary and Marshall could forecast.

Otherwise, it was loud music, lots of snacks, and too many people. Mary reminded herself two out of three wasn't bad, and was almost happy to see Jinx and Brandi show up at her door while Delia set out a bowl of cashews. Her family, unusually punctual, was never late when it came to parties. They were weighed down by coats as well as Colin in his car seat at arrival, bringing a flurry of freezing wind with them.

"Merry Christmas!" Jinx bellowed at the top of her voice, parading inside and over to Delia, who had set about arranging a tray of muffins at the island.

"Merry Christmas, Mrs. Shannon…" Delia replied politely, wearing her usual thousand-watt smile. This time, it was accompanied by a fire-engine red top adorned with a few-too-many sequins, in Mary's eyes. "Care for a muffin?" she offered one, but Jinx already had her nose stuck in the whole lot.

"You call me Jinx…" the woman persisted while she examined. "These formalities Delia; so unnecessary. Is this butter cream filling?" she wanted to know.

Mary spared the smallest of glances to the kitchen, bouncing Colin in his green Christmas sweater while Brandi removed her coat and tipped a whole load of presents beneath the tree. Marshall was hanging back against the counter, sipping a beer and keeping an eye on Norah, who was at her usual spot on the floor with Oscar. Mary had refused to put her daughter in festive clothing and instead shoved her into her denim overalls, topping the ensemble off with a crimson turtleneck.

"Mare…?" Brandi called from where her head was buried beneath the branches. When her sister joined, she continued, "Should I put Marshall's gift under the tree?" dropping to an undertone.

"You got Marshall a gift?" Mary was astonished, hitching up Colin's khaki pants so they wouldn't slip over his diaper.

"Well, I wanted to cheer him up…" Brandi shrugged, still in that cagey tone. "How is he doing?"

"How do you think he's doing; and stop with the cloak and dagger," Mary ran-on quickly. "The whole point of me _telling_ you what was going on was so we could avoid this sort of thing."

"I know, I know…" Brandi claimed, deciding Marshall's gift did indeed belong under the tree without waiting for Mary's approval. When she emerged, she pursed her lips in her inspection of the man in question, working her mouth side-to-side with thought. "That beard looks hot on him," she blurted out baldly.

"Squish; shut up!" Mary smacked her with the hand that was not supporting Colin. "You are shameless! His wife just left him, and you're sitting here telling me he looks hot. Gross."

"Gross…" Brandi scoffed, ignoring the rest. "How come he never had a beard before?"

"I don't know, but I think he's gonna shave it…" Mary muttered absently, Colin slithering all over in her grasp like he couldn't wait to be put down. "How's the tiger shaping up anyway?" she inquired to divert from the subject of Marshall.

Brandi immediately took the bait and started making kissy-faces at her son, admiring his unfathomable ginger locks. She even danced her fingers across the freckles on his nose, which made him blink furiously from his spot in Mary's arms.

"Spoiled rotten; that's how he's shaping up…" she mooned girlishly, inches from his face. "But, better now than when mommy goes to work next month…"

Mary had to stop herself from breathing an enormous sigh of relief at this pronouncement. Brandi had a job – a job as a massage assistant where she could work and finish completing the required courses by May. Work, school, _and_ a baby added up to a tall order, and yet a job that Mary had found so idiotic several years before was just a job now. A job that paid money. Merry Christmas indeed.

"You're looking good, Squish…" Mary decided to point out as the three of them made their way to the kitchen, trying not to tread on Oscar and Norah in the process. "Like things aren't so hectic anymore."

"That wasn't a compliment coming out of your mouth, was it?" Brandi inquired, halting at the counter to help herself to trail mix. "Not possible."

"It's Christmas," Mary shrugged it off now that they were near Marshall, who had immediately taken an interest in the red-haired child trying to bat his mother's earrings from two feet away.

"Hi Marshall…" Brandi greeted him quite normally, for which Mary was grateful, and even added a smile. "It's good to see you."

"You as well," he reciprocated. "And your little man. This must be Colin…"

Mary saw him reaching, and she couldn't resist passing him over the counter that stood between them and into Marshall's arms. The man lit up around children, and it was with a heavy heart that Mary realized he must be mourning the absence of kids he would never get to have with Abigail. Watching him make eyes at Colin while Brandi beamed nearby, she found herself wishing so violently he found someone else as soon as his heart would allow. He didn't deserve to be alone.

"Well, look at you, Red…" he proclaimed merrily, fingering the lighter strands of Colin's locks. "Aren't you a handsome fellow?"

"That's my boy," Brandi sang modestly.

With that, the door opened another time just as Jinx made her way over to say hello to Marshall as well; now having gotten her share of muffins. Mary whipped around at the sound of the knob, pleased Marshall was momentarily content with the women and babies, and saw it was Mark who had arrived. Joanna was indisposed for the day, but Mary suddenly realized she was happy to have Mark in the house. In Marshall's absence, he'd become the first real friend she'd had in a long time.

"Hey Mark!" she called, crunching on some snacks herself.

"Hello, all!" he answered, but his voice was drowned by the enchanted wail of a little girl who not-so-many days before had been fearful of all but her mother. Marshall being her new caretaker had taught her to trust more freely.

"Da!" Norah shrieked, not lacking in vigor for even a second. She scrambled to her feet, hands clasped in front of the bib on her overalls in obvious unfathomable joy. New life had been breathed into her. "Da-da; tee! Tee!" she gestured at the faux-evergreen in the corner, just as Mark lumbered his way in.

He was cautionary for a moment, eyeing Oscar with apprehension, but the dog merely watched. There was unmistakable skepticism in his brown eyes, but nothing more was done.

"Hi angel…" the man hummed sweetly upon seeing his path was clear. "Don't you look festive in your red shirt?" and Mary had tried so hard to avoid that feeling, she recalled with scorn.

Mark immediately boosted Norah into his arms, clearly thrilled as well as baffled at what appeared to be a sudden change in mood. He'd been devastated when she'd reverted after her tumble and refused to go near anyone but Mary and the woman couldn't blame him. But now, his blonde-headed baby was making up for it as she snuggled in near him, buttons on her overalls crackling against his chest.

"Hello my sweet girl…" he rubbed her shiny hair, fresh from a bath the night before. "Let daddy see your head; I want to see if you still have a boo-boo…"

Mary cringed at the use of the phrase, as he made his way to her on the outside of the counter through his examination. He, like his ex, was pleased with the result.

"Can hardly tell it's there now…" Mark reported, leaning to lay a peck on Mary's cheek. "She's been feeling better, I guess?"

"Well, she's had to get used to the company…" Mary admitted. "With Marshall around."

This led to more pleasantries being exchanged by the men, as Mark thanked Marshall for spending so much time with Norah while they all wrapped up work before the holidays. Marshall, predictably, was humble and said he didn't mind at all. Mary couldn't help noticing that, despite his efforts, he still seemed a bit glum. Maybe all the people hadn't been the best idea, even if he was able to conceal his troubles for a little while.

Meanwhile, Norah was becoming fidgety with so many prospects in front of her, and it was clear her enthusiasm with Mark was going to be rather short-lived.

"Mama…" she requested now that they were so near each other, extending her arms to reach. "Mama…bocks…" she asked for her favorite toy as Mark gave a resigned, but genial sigh.

"Had to have known this wouldn't last…" he teased as he handed his daughter over to her mother. Norah latched on at once in Mary's touch, sprawling her arms all down her back, resting her chin on her shoulder. "Guess I should be grateful I got even a couple minutes in."

"Get yourself some food," Mary advised to make him feel better. "I need to figure out something for her to do so she's not tripping people."

Mark followed the suggestion and made for the island, leaving Mary and Marshall alone, now that Colin was back with Brandi. Norah was still whining for her blocks, but Mary had to shake her head and tell her no.

"No blocks right now…" she lamented, fixing a droopy strap on Norah's overalls while she had her. "How 'bout a book?"

"No book…" she moaned sourly.

Mary could've expected that, but had no better options right now and instead decided to let her daughter wallow momentarily while she had Marshall to herself. He was looking wistful and a little more pensive then he might be ordinarily. Mary did not have to ask why, but it was probably pertinent to inquire on how much.

"Hey…" she started simple to recall his glance, and his eyes journeyed to the voice that was addressing him; blank and slightly unfocused. "Are you okay?"

He sighed, "As okay as I'm ever going to be right now," he admitted. "But…" he shook his head, trying to smile affably. "I don't want to ruin the party," he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"Well, it's not like people wouldn't understand…" Mary offered at once, arms becoming sore with Norah on board. "Not that you _are_ ruining the party, I'm just saying…"

"I shouldn't be here," Marshall cut her off, placing his beer bottle on the counter with somewhat of a loud thud.

Mary didn't know what that meant, but intended to find out as soon as possible. It was awkward, having to speak over Norah's leech-like stance. She might've been improving, but when provided all her choices, Mary was still the best one in her very young eyes.

"What do you mean?" she shifted, wanting to be on the other side of the counter; as to be closer to him. "Here at the house, or…?"

"Here at the party," Marshall decided quietly, eyeing the empty contents of his bottle. "It's your family, and I don't belong…"

"Hold up," Mary slipped in sharply, and she took her own advice by skittering around the counter to be directly in front of him. Luckily, the rest of the group was on its way to the living room. "You _are_ family. That's _why_ you're here. I thought you knew that."

Marshall shrugged and Mary was struck once more by how much taller he was than her. He didn't look imposing right now, however, which was how Stan often seemed despite his more miniscule stature. Marshall just looked bummed and run-down. He didn't know what he wanted anymore.

"Have you eaten anything?" she asked when he gave no response.

"I'm not very hungry."

"Maybe later…" Mary didn't want to push him. "Is there something I can get you?"

He smiled a little more freely at her evident generosity; at how hard she was trying to lift his spirits. He wasn't sure whether the one thing he wanted was very appropriate for this moment, but she'd asked and seemed to want to help in whatever way she could. He loved her for that.

"You think I could…?" he hedged, and then decided to just move on. "Take Norah back to her room for a bit?" he inquired. "She'll need someone to play with and then she won't be in everyone's way."

Mary's heart, already somewhat fragile when it came to Marshall these days, couldn't say no. She immediately gave up her daughter, shifting her off her hips and into Marshall's arms. This prompted a few pitiful whimpers from Norah at being detached from her mother, but she offered a few soothing words before they took off.

"Go with Marshall…" she encouraged, noting Norah's suspicious dark green eyes with the suggestion. "Mama's right out here. Marshall's gonna play with your blocks…" she teased invitingly with a silly smile.

The fright eased, "Bocks?" she blinked innocently at the man.

"That's right…" he sang.

And without further ado, he was off to the bedroom, ready for whatever game Norah wished to inflict upon him in the minutes to come. Mary couldn't deny him the pleasure of something that made him so happy, but did hope when he was feeling a little more like himself he would return to the party. She didn't like to think of him hiding, and others would wonder where he'd gotten to.

Mary's qualms about Marshall disappearing proved right on the money when she commenced with the others in the living room. All of them were settled in couches and chairs, munching heartily on all the finger foods.

"Honey, where's Marshall?" Jinx butted in while the aforementioned took the only free spot – on the floor next to Mark in his chair. "Won't he be joining us?"

"He just took Norah back to her room for a bit," she attempted to be nonchalant, easing herself down to the ground. "She needs a buddy. You know how much she likes being the center of attention," the mother fabricated.

Nobody really seemed to fasten on to this statement; nobody believed it. Mary was beginning to wish she hadn't said anything in regards to Marshall's plight. Jinx and Brandi were likely to have bought into a pack of lies much better. Mark and Delia wouldn't think to ask if they had enough intuition to know something was off. They were a little more tactful than that.

"I feel just terrible for him, darling…" Jinx prattled on, true to form. "He must be so hurt."

Mary was about to shut her up, but Brandi got there first, "He's such a good guy; I can't believe Abigail would do something like this to him…" she rocked Colin and fed him his bottle as she said it. "Are they seriously filing for divorce?"

"Please, as if he needs to fight for that awful witch…" Jinx disagreed, but Mary had heard enough.

"Both of you shut your traps, would you?" she snipped snidely, knowing she sounded very harsh and that Jinx would not appreciate it. "Don't you have any sense of decorum? Are you gonna sit here all day and talk behind his back like a bunch of gossipy schoolgirls?"

"We're on his side!" Brandi protested a little too loudly, and Mary prayed Marshall had shut the door when he'd retreated with Norah. "We want to help…!"

"It's probably better if we let Marshall deal with this however he wants, though…" Delia interjected softly, but assuredly from the chair opposite Mark. "If I know Marshall, he doesn't want our pity."

"He doesn't," Mary surprised herself by agreeing with Delia almost at once. "He just wants to get back on his feet without everyone trying to kiss them in the process."

Fortunately, this quieted the gang, and the only sound was Colin sucking on his bottle. Mary hadn't meant to demand they all see this her way, but she was feeling very protective of Marshall since his troubles had come to light. She'd meant what she said about recognizing how much she relied on Marshall without him around.

"But…thank-you…" she suddenly offered without even thinking about it, seeing how everyone scrutinized her last response. "I know Marshall appreciates it."

With that, the conversation tittered into something more pleasant, but Mary still felt odd. Watching everyone share snacks and stories, talking about plans for the holidays, she felt as isolated as Marshall must back in the bedroom with Norah. It didn't feel right, being out here while he was alone, despite having requested it – especially after doubting he was a part of her family.

Rising from her spot on the floor, she only caught the attention of Mark, who was nearest.

"Where you going?" he asked, craning his neck to look up at her. "You just sat down."

Mary was mindful to drop her voice, "I just think I should probably check on Marshall."

Mark was also discrete, and scanned the room briefly before snooping a bit more delicately than the rest.

"He must be having kind of a hard time," he assumed. "Probably doesn't feel like being around a bunch of people."

"Probably not…" Mary sighed. "Too bad I couldn't figure that out before today."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Mark said. "You're doing the best you can."

Mary gave him a shy smile to say she was acknowledging his kindness, but was more than happy to leave the group behind in order to unite with her best friend. She was pleased to see that Marshall had shut the door, if not all the way, and so it was easy for her to enter without knocking.

Mary felt certain she couldn't have been gone that long, and yet she found Marshall in the rocking chair, swaying Norah back and forth on the runners. Her daughter was already asleep with her head beneath Marshall's chin; a discarded book resting upon his knee. His eyes ventured upward at the sound of the door, and he smiled at her presence.

"Guess it was naptime…" he commented. "Built a few towers…" he gestured at the abandoned blocks on the floor. "Wore her out quicker than I expected."

"Lot of work being Bob the Builder…" Mary joked, sliding onto the floor, thinking in the back of her mind that she spent far too much time on the ground these days. She tweaked one of Norah's socked feet and went on, "I'll put her down in the crib if you want."

"I would rather keep her here, if it's all the same to you…" Marshall murmured unashamedly.

Mary saw no issue, "Why not? She looks content to me."

Marshall seemed pleased by this, almost proud, and continued his rhythmic rocking to keep Norah from waking. It was hard to talk to him, Mary reflected, as he seemed so large sitting above her – completely out-of-perspective. Then again, lots of things in his life were out-of-perspective at this point.

"I'm sorry about this crowd, Marshall…" she tossed up, nothing better to say. "I don't know why I thought it would help; I guess they mean well, but…"

"No, they do…" he conceded. "I know they do. I thought I'd want to get up and get back to normal too; it's just not as easy as I thought."

"Just because today is easier than yesterday doesn't make it easy yet…" Mary found herself musing quietly, and she saw him nod out the corner of her eye. "Marshall, it's only been like, a week. You can't expect to be a hundred percent yet."

"Maybe not…" he contributed. "It's this emptiness, though…this giant patch where everything was supposed to go…"

Mary chuckled without meaning to, hoping he would give her a chance to explain, because his description had sparked something in her brain. It was so familiar to words she had spoken herself several years before; her and Marshall were of one mind more often than not.

"What?" he asked curiously.

"Nothing, just…"

She shifted onto one hand, shaking her hair out of her eyes to get a better look at him. He did not look offended by the laugh; he knew Mary well enough to know she wasn't poking fun. All he had to do was wait.

"I said something…practically those exact words when Raph and I split," she confided in him. "Weird, right?"

Marshall didn't seem to think it was weird at all. He even seemed to find it endearing; that they'd shared something circumstances and years apart. No matter how far flung one of them strayed, they always ended up in the same spot eventually.

"Was it hard for you?" he wondered in a hushed voice, peering down at her from his spot behind Norah's head. "To try and imagine this whole other life down the road – that there even _was_ a future down the road?"

"I don't know…" Mary said honestly, and knew she wasn't going to be able to talk to him from below anymore.

She stood, unable to stay put, and began to pace, fiddling with the stray toys she'd carted into the room over the past few days. Most of them were stacked on top of the dresser, but she was contemplating building shelves in the closet to hold a few things, or crafting a bin to keep them out-of-sight. She spoke as she considered.

"It was harder for me than I let on…" she admitted coolly, not meeting Marshall's eyes. "It was probably when he picked up his things that got to me…" she remembered that day very well. "In fact, I _know_ it got to me," she threw him a sheepish smile.

Norah shifted in her sleep, groaning halfway between satisfied and prickly. Mary thought she might not actually be completely under, but the fact that she felt safe enough to stay down made her heart soar. Marshall needed it right now.

"I'm not sure why I'm asking…" he responded casually, kicking his foot into the carpet to keep the tempo. "It's not really the same thing," he supposed. "I mean, Raph didn't…"

He stopped rather abruptly, Mary reorganizing the clothes in Norah's top drawer somewhat absentmindedly. It took her a moment to become conscious of the fact that he was getting uncomfortable.

"…Not that you weren't hurt…"

Now she got it. He worried he was implying his pain outdistanced hers because Raph hadn't cheated on her. Well, she was far from offended, because there was nothing untrue about his assumptions. She hadn't loved Raph. Marshall did love Abigail.

"Marshall, stop before you hurt yourself…" she said easily, closing the drawer to face him dead-on. "Yeah, I was upset about Raph, and I was a big fat liar when I said _I_ broke up with _him_…"

"I kind of figured."

"But, just because it's not the same in _every_ way doesn't mean it wasn't the same in _some_ ways," Mary presented less-than-philosophically. "It sucks when you don't know what's coming down the pike. I like when life is mapped out, and Raph threw me for a curve. Not that it was anything compared to the knuckleball Abigail gave you."

Marshall gave her a half-smile, but nothing more, and averted his eyes down to Norah once again. Mary could see that he was basking in the softness of her skin, the gentle way her chest rose and fell beneath his hands. She was truly angelic, especially when asleep. For a week filled with so much unpleasantness, Mary couldn't blame him for soaking up every bit of purity there was left in the world.

"I don't know where I'm supposed to go from here," he eventually claimed, fiddling with the turned-up collar on Norah's turtleneck. "I can't just stay in park."

"Well…" Mary stepped a little closer to him, wishing more and more with each passing moment that she had a chair to sit in as well. She felt demonstrative towering over his hunched form. "There's work. Have you thought anymore about that?"

"Every day," he replied swiftly. "It's probably one of the few things I'm sure about."

Mary's heart began to pick up speed, "How so?" she tried not to sound as over-eager as she felt.

His blue eyes rose to meet hers, far and away displaying their most confident shine since everything Abigail had inflicted upon him.

"Think you can stand having me as a partner again?"

Mary tried not to let the goofy, completely ludicrous smile pop onto her face, but there was no stopping it. It stretched and widened across her cheeks, scrunching her eyes and streaming rays of sunlight into her very soul. Not having him around had been bad enough, but she hadn't honestly been sure if she'd be able to adjust to the idea of him as her boss. She'd have made the attempt, but couldn't help believing it would not bring out her most flattering side.

"I don't know…" she toyed with the idea briefly, not wanting to play her hand too soon. "I'm a pretty tough gal to work with. Sure you're up to the challenge?"

Marshall actually laughed, and it made the lines in his face sink in; streaking the spots where he looked most aged from his recent tribulation. But, Mary was glad to hear the sound nonetheless.

"I'm just not sure I'm ready to accept all the responsibilities as chief yet," he declared, finally standing up slowly to put Norah in her bed for awhile. Mary grinned seeing she had a print imbedded in her skin from where her cheek had pressed into the buttons on Marshall's shirt. "And, it sounds like Hanson's happy where he is."

"Well, he's no Stan…" Mary lamented. "But happy – or else superior – would be the word for it."

Marshall was careful to snuggle Norah appropriately against her pillow so she would be comfortable, and also nestled her rabbit in the crook of her arm – so she wouldn't wake up completely alone. When he turned around, it was with a look of relief with Mary standing right there waiting.

"I'm not sure this doesn't qualify as staying in park…" he settled on. "I mean, we're kind of back where we started, aren't we?"

"Yeah, if you want to look at it that way…" Mary almost scoffed; glad they were right in front of each other now; eye-to-eye. "You could also look at it as going back to your roots – back to where you were doing what you loved. If you ask me, you're lucky to have found what makes your blood pound so early in life."

"And here I thought being lucky wasn't in my vocabulary this week," Marshall quipped. "It's nice to know you can be that open-minded."

"What can I say?" Mary held up her hands in defeat. "I'm a new woman."

Another thought had just occurred to her, and she wanted to voice it before Marshall made the offer to return to the party, as she was sure he was going to. He wasn't one to get a reputation as a spoil sport, and wasn't about to start now. But, Mary intended to keep him as long as she felt necessary. He belonged to no one else right now.

"Well…working with me will probably be a bit much…" she began. "And I can't promise I won't be as hellish and cranky and grouchy as I've always been…"

"Hey, that's the Mary I sighted as my best friend…" Marshall slid in neatly.

"But, if you wanted a place to bunk up…" she shrugged, gesturing around the room in an indication of the rest of the house. "No rush trying to snag a place on the market right now."

It was her way of asking him if he wanted to stay with her. Abigail would have a fit if she found out, but Abigail could do what she wanted. She'd tossed aside a perfectly humble, perfectly wonderful, perfectly honest man who loved her without a second thought. He was Mary's now. In truth, he'd always been Mary's – friends to the end.

"That's really nice of you…" he understood. "But…"

Mary stopped him with a mere wave of her hand. She wanted to show him she still intended to be that best friend she'd yearned for so badly. He didn't need to dispute it all the time. He didn't need to give her an out, or assume she didn't mean what she said. Hell, he out to know by now she _always_ meant what she said.

And, the hand did it. A slow smile crept onto his face, and for a split-second, Mary saw a flicker of that Marshall she knew so well – beneath the beard, the weary eyes, and unkempt hair. Underneath, he was still Marshall.

And polite to the very end, "Thank-you."

"Sure…" a nod was all it needed from Mary. "It's the kind of thing you do for someone you love."

The effect was instantaneous. Everything else fell so seamlessly into place. His eyes weren't lifeless anymore, but beginning to twinkle. His bones weren't so weak, but starting to gain ground. Most of all, the way he carried himself radiated a sense of confidence – minor, but there just the same and even more so as Mary jerked her head and led him back to the door.

"Love you too, Mare…"

He'd neglected it several nights before, after what had been quite a step for her. But, validation wasn't essential.

"Platonically, of course," he felt the need to tack on.

Big words, blue eyes, and boundless heart. Boundless. Yes, he was Marshall. And Mary laughed just thinking about it.

"Of course."

XXX

**A/N: The End! I really appreciate everyone who has taken the time to read this, and to review. It hasn't been my most beloved story, but it had a nice little circle of followers and it's all about quality, not quantity. Thanks so much to Jayne Leigh, carajiggirl, hannanball13, BrittanyLS, JJ2008, usafcmycloud, thena-ditey, TaleWeaver, JC4ever, MEG, Karmagirl880618, ladypuercoloco, Orion-Starr, Reader1701, redbrainbluebrain, Grey Fool, and many guests! I am so grateful to all of you, and take note of the kind comments.**

**I am honestly not sure where I am headed from here! I haven't had any ideas on a sequel for this story, but my mind still wants to do something else with Sam (just can't let him go!) and the holiday series – more the holiday series at the moment. But, I should warn you it is going to have to wait. I am insanely busy from now until the end of November, so I will be awhile! Thank-you so much for your support! XOXO**


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